


The Big Sleep

by BlairRabbit



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Dreams, Dreamsharing, Gen, M/M, Pacific Rim AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairRabbit/pseuds/BlairRabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2014 the city of San Francisco stopped dreaming and the Kaiju war began.  Now the world is a broken place where dreams are bought and sold. For many sleep can only be attained through artificial means and humanity cowers behind the might of the IDDC, the last defense against flesh and blood nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dealers

   The late afternoon air was extremely heavy, pregnant with the promise of rain. Clouds gathered, their undersides a shade of bruised purple. Electricity crackled on the breeze and the sky turned an uncomfortable grey-yellow. Newt shivered and pulled his sopping wet beach towel closer to his clammy skin, leaning on a concrete sign that scratched against him. In tired, chipped, faux gold letters the sign proclaimed _Seneca Falls Public Pool_.

Newt’s mother had promised to come get him after swimming lessons. They were going to go to Dairy Queen for a dip cone; he had been looking forward to it for a week and a half. His stomach grumbled painfully and Newt bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to ignore the approaching storm. The smell of moisture in the air mixed with the sharp scent of pool chlorine. It smelled like perfume, a special fragrance he would remember the rest of his life.

His mother wasn’t coming. Water dripped from Newt’s saturated hair and the first plump drop of hot June rain struck his shoulder. He wasn’t going to taste vanilla ice cream or tell her about his first dive into the deep end. All the other kids were terrified, but Newt had leapt fearlessly into the unnaturally blue water. He could still feel the sting of the spectacular belly flop in the muscles of his stomach. He was the smallest six year old in his class but they would remember he had jumped first. Another shower-warm bead of water hit his nose and splashed the lens of his coke-bottle glasses.

She wasn’t coming.

Something tickled in the back of Newt’s brain and the whole world shifted, a feather of thought stirring behind his eyes. He heard something that could have been a voice sigh into his ear and realized he couldn’t be here. He had to move on.

The aquatic center from his childhood blurred, dribbling away like an image captured through watery glass. The sky turned a vibrant orange and the simple oaks and birch trees around Newt shot up into redwood skyscrapers. Looking down at his hands, which had been the small stubby fingers of a child only seconds before, Newt found the sleek, razor-sharp curls of claws, dark as obsidian and chipped from use.

Giving a clucking noise Newt lifted up his head and twisted it from side to side. Power flowed through his muscles and he chirped at a creature emerging from a thick stand of curling ferns at his side. The thing returned his call, the frilled feathers around its neck waving back and forth in greeting. He could see more of them waiting in the trees; the sleek shapes of their bodies were mostly hidden by thick camouflaged skin patterned to look like dapples of light on a dark forest floor. With a soft guttural call, Newt joined them. The pack moved together easily, slipping through the primeval forest like shadows.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything; his stomach felt hollow. The creature…the _raptor_ beside him paused, sniffed at the ground, and clicked its claws together. Food was close. A belling groan echoed through the trees. Newt was instantly on the alert, muscles tensing as his head swiveled, searching for the source. The second raptor made a series of rapid clicks and zipped forward as the ground began to shake.

Newt could smell the food now, the musk earthy and vaguely acrid. The stegosaur plodded slowly through the clearing beyond the trees. Each step caused the world to shake, leaves and pine needles jarred from the trees by the impact. There were scars threaded across the creature’s hide- some fresh, some old. Newt’s jaw worked hungrily and he dug his foot claws deep into the fragrant loamy ground skittering through the underbrush.

Another raptor from Newt’s pack hovered close by, lips pulled back from its teeth as it gave a soft hiss. Heads held low, the pack circled their prey, ready to catch it unaware. The stegosaur grazed on fern with its back turned to them, tail waving slowly and the tip nearly scraping the ground from the weight of its spikes. Newt and the second raptor observed it warily for a moment, debating the best way to strike.

The stegosaur raised its head from the ferns and spotted them. Its dull eyes widened and it gave a coarse bellow, the tail thumping hard against the ground in warning. Newt and the second raptor screeched in response, splitting up and darting in front of the stegosaur as it tried to turn its bulky body. They flanked their prey, avoiding the thrashing tail as its spikes whistled through the air. Newt crouched and leapt, claws ripping and tearing as he drew blood. The mammoth creature howled in pain, the sound rising into the ancient humid sky.

He could taste its flesh and feel the last struggling thrashes as the dinosaur bled out beneath him. The other raptors were swarming it in droves. They called to him and together they celebrated the kill, singing their triumph in growls and screeches. He took a mouthful of hot viscera and turned to…

The world went completely black. After an immeasurable time in utter darkness Newt heard three beeps followed by a ringing tone and a voice.

     “A man of words and not of deeds?”

Newt knew this. His brain scrambled from the edge of sleep to fill in the blanks and finish the poem.

     “Is…like a garden full of…full of weeds.”

The silky female voice spoke again, dragging his brain back across the threshold into reality. She continued the rhyme, waiting patiently for the correct reply.

     “And when the weeds begin to grow?”

The answer came easier this time and Newt took a deep breath opening his eyes, pushing a heavy blanket from his bare chest.

     “It’s like a garden full of snow.”

The smoky female voice didn’t answer. It was a rougher and more brutish voice that spoke to Newt now, the purr of a cat replaced by the growling of a lion.

     “Wake up, creampuff. Check-out time’s in ten minutes.”

Newton Geiszler blinked a few times and reached up drowsily to paw at the uncomfortable metal prongs digging into the skin of his neck and forehead. The dim lights in the stuffy circular room brightened in slow increments. Bulbs flared over a darkened door, illuminating walls of thrumming machinery that surrounded the overstuffed bed Newt was lying in. It had always put him in mind of the slab where Dr. Frankenstein had made his monster.

A pane of electronically tinted glass cleared in a wave of interconnected hexagonal light panels, revealing a control room above Newt’s head. It sat high on the glossy wall, a great vantage point for anyone interested in watching him in the bed; which was exactly why it was there. Vague shadowy figures moved behind the control room glass; there was a fizzle of static over the sleep bays intercom but no more instructions.

Newt rubbed a thumb over the glowing light of the squid-cap in his hands. The non-standard issue Pons-helmet was still warm from his body heat. He had a difficult time waking up from recording sessions; everything coming through a confusing haze, a sensation of being in several places at once. He ran meandering hands over his face and through his tousled hair. Grabbing his thick-framed glasses from the low side table, Newt glared up and whined loudly at the control booth.

     “Goddammit, Liang. How much Mab did you give me?”

The intercom gave a subtle click and Liang Fang, the owner of the sinuous female voice that had coaxed him into wakefulness, chuckled low.

     “Please, Doctor Geiszler. I’m a professional. I gave you exactly the right amount and not a drop more.”

Newt grumbled in irritation and stretched until his spine gave an audible pop. Slipping his legs over the side of the bed, he waved her off languidly.

     “Yeah well sometimes I forget to trust people…especially gangsters. It’s a side effect of being drugged all the time.”

Fang gave a laugh that had real bite behind it. She brightened the lights faster, bringing the dull metallic sheen of the round room into sharp focus.

     “Well. If you disagree with our methods perhaps you should find another way to get your Panel fix, eh? _Doctor_?”

Newt gagged, an ugly jagged headache squatting behind his eyes - just one of the fun-filled residual side effects of Pons recording. Newt felt a flush in his cheeks when he saw that his clothes had been folded while he was unconscious.

     “You guys doing turn down service now? Did the hired muscle rifle through my pockets while they were folding my pants?”

Liang didn’t answer, the booth eerily silent. Newt shrugged and padded across the smooth stone floor. He pulled on his pants and t-shirt, struggling a moment with his socks and the laces on his boots. He knew he was supposed to wait to put his shoes on outside but did it anyway, feeling his moment of childish defiance totally justified. Looking back at the rumpled bed Newt debated making it, and then rolled his eyes. This was an illegal dream-recording studio…not a hotel. He didn’t need to make his bed to be polite to the maid. Let the gun-wielding crime lackeys straighten his sweaty sheets.

Newt had sold his first dream three years into the war. It had been about a group of tiny people that lived in the walls of his childhood home, stealing potato chips and battling spiders. He hadn’t sold it for the money; although his job didn’t pay great he had everything he needed. He had done it the first time out of pure curiosity. That was just the way he was.

Liang cracked over the speaker system, her voice less jocular.

     “Hannibal wants to see you in his office, Geiszler.”

Newt swallowed and a prickle of nervousness worked its way down his back.

     “Did I do something wrong? I thought he liked dinosaurs. Big-seller, yeah? Everybody likes dinosaurs.”

Fang paused and the door leading out of the sleep bay slid upwards with a hiss. Newt normally loved that Star Trek sound, but now it filled him with an anxious giddiness. Hannibal usually came to his sessions and gave the odd comment like he had today… but an office visit was not the norm. It was not the norm _at all_.

     “He has your new Panels and your money…I suggest you don’t question it and I don’t think it wise to keep him waiting. “

The round sleep-recording rooms, which were purposefully designed to be perfectly circular with dome shaped ceilings, were called Dream Catchers. It was cheesy as shit and Newt loved it. He loved most things about it aside from the massive hangover-like headaches he would get after recordings. He liked watching his dreams played back and he liked the idea that other people would see them. He liked getting paid. About the only thing he _didn’t_ like was working for Hannibal Chau.

Grabbing his messenger bag from a hook just outside the doorway, Newt made his way slowly down the hall past five other Catchers. Hannibal had a thriving business and the cushy interior of his headquarters attested to that. It was nearly impossible to tell his whole operation was hidden away in a rundown warehouse. But then…it was easy to make money on something the whole world wanted but couldn’t have.

Pausing and giving his forehead one more aggravated rub, Newt pushed open a polished wooden door and staggered into the tastelessly ornate confines of Hannibal’s office. There was a fire in the carved marble fireplace. A painting of a greyhound so tacky it had to be insanely expensive hanging above the roaring hearth. Shelves lined with rows and rows of Panels soared up towards the ceiling and Newt eyed them hungrily. Every plastic Panel cartridge held up to ten thirty-minute dreams. Ten dreams per Panel, and Hannibal had to have two hundred Panels in a single mahogany shelf.

The man himself stood up, sauntering meaningfully from behind his gilded desk. Hannibal was just as chintz and tawdry as everything else in the place, the firelight wavering on his thick goggle like sunglasses and off his golden teeth. He didn’t waste any time; Newt knew from years of experience that Hannibal never wasted words. It was one of his few admirable traits.

     “We talked about the pool thing last time. You said you were over it. You said you were seeing a _shrink_. This is strike five, small-fry. My patience can only be stretched so far, and you know the rule. I pay for magic, not memories. You leave that trauma with your mama at the door when you step in here.”

Newt avoided looking at him, eyes sliding over a white marble bust of some Greek god and on to another bookshelf full of Panels. It was embarrassing enough that a crime lord was privy to one of his worst memories, and now he was being berated about it like a toddler.

     “Yeah, yeah. I’m still looking for the right psychiatrist…”

Blood dribbled from his nose and before he even noticed, Hannibal’s thick fingers were gripping his jaw and jerking his head roughly upward.

     “This carpet is worth more than your skin, shithead. You get a drop of blood on it and I’ll take it out of that pretty brain of yours.”

Newt gagged glasses askew, eyes bugging out at the sudden pressure on his aching skull. He was not a tall guy and Hannibal had a good four inches of height on him. He put his hands on Hannibal’s arms, tugging hard at the velvet coat. Hannibal tutted unsympathetically, reaching into his pocket to draw out a handkerchief. Chau jammed it forcefully up Newt’s nose, jerking his hand away with a dismissive wave.

     “I don’t like giving warnings, half-pint. I don’t like repeating myself. You know how much a session costs to record? You know how much money I dump down the drain every time you take a trip down memory lane?”

Newt felt anger flush in his cheeks. Recordings didn’t cost _that_ much. Hell, the new portable recorders could be used by anybody. The quality wasn’t as good but who was really paying attention? Hannibal was full of shit, berating him just because he could.

Hannibal ambling across the garish Indian carpet to a well-stocked wet bar. The decorative metal scales on his shoes jingled musically with each step. Newt snorted and sneezed, a fresh rush of blood dribbling into the cotton wedged up his nostril. There was a sound of ice clinking on glass and Hannibal poured himself a tumbler of whiskey from a crystal decanter shaped like an elephant.    

     “I keep you on payroll because your dreams sell. The Jurassic Park crap especially.”

Newt glowered at the ground, putting a shaking hand to his nose. _No_ , he wanted to say, _you keep me because I’m probably only one of a hundred people in this whole damn city that can dream anymore._ He didn’t say it. Newt could admit to himself he was an impulsive loudmouth on occasion, but he wasn’t an idiot.

Well… not all the time.

     “I…I’m trying to get it under control, Chau. But like, no matter how good I get at lucid dreaming the Mab makes it hard to control. Maybe if you didn’t give me so goddamn much of it every time we record!”

Newt’s head was splitting wide open now and he whimpered miserably, pressing shaky fingers to his sensitive scalp. Hannibal watched him, swirling his booze around and playing distractedly with a diamond pinky ring.

     “If you don’t take Mab you might give us a black screen. You take Mab and we got guaranteed HD dreams in glorious Technicolor. It’s not Cane or Liang’s fault you built up a tolerance and now we gotta double dose you just to guarantee some product in the can.”

He sighed and almost managed to sound magnanimous.

     “Don’t I always treat you right, Doc? I give you what you want, don’t I? Look… I got the latest right here.”

Picking up a small pile of Panels and an envelope wrapped with a rubber band Hannibal waved them suggestively. Newt stared and felt the old junkie urge rise up in the back of his throbbing brain. His fingertips itched and he wiped unconsciously at his mouth.

     “All new right? You put any recycled stuff in there?”

Hannibal’s face split into an oily grin.

     “Nah. The first two are all new shit. Uncensored, good quality. The third one is just some odds and ends I picked up. Wasn’t planning on using most of it, but maybe you can give me your opinion. You know how much I value you your opinion…right, Doc?”

Hannibal held out the Panels and Newt lunged despite himself. He didn’t want the man to see how desperately he wanted the dream tapes…didn’t want to admit to himself how badly he wanted them, but what could he do? He was weak. The crime lord pulled them away at the last minute eyebrows raised.

     “No more swimming pool bullshit, Geiszler. And no more Kaiju dreams, those sell about as well as popsicles in Antarctica. You didn’t do it this time, but I know you and I know how you think. I don’t want either of those things again. _Capisce?_ ”

Newt grabbed the front of his t-shirt and gripped the old material. He nodded wildly, if Hannibal had asked him to stop breathing he would have agreed without a second thought.

     “Yeah, yeah! Sure man. Sure.”

The Panels and the envelope flew through the air, chucked the short distance into Newt’s hands. Newt snatched them and examined them excitedly, turning over the blank cartridges in quivering fingers, his words flying out in a frantic rush.

     “Any flying dreams on here?”

Hannibal made his way back to the chair behind his desk, sinking into it with a snort.

     “Ha. I wish, but it’s nothing so valuable. Most of its local talent but there’s some new Nemos on there.”

Nemos - people who could still dream - were rare as unicorn dandruff. Newt didn’t corner the market but he sure as hell didn’t feel any job insecurity. He looked around the stifling room and wanted very much to make a break for it. He had what he wanted now; he just wanted to get home and hook up.

Hannibal seemed to sense this and put down his drink. Pulling a butterfly knife from his pocket, he turned it over and over in his callused fingers thoughtfully. Newt knew he couldn’t leave until he got permission and his whole body fidgeted, eyes flickering back towards the door.

     “When’s your next recording session, small-fry?”

Newt opened the flap on his messenger bag and put the Panels away, handling them like they were solid gold.

     “Week from now…unless something happens at the Dome. I mean, sometimes I get busy.”

 _Click, click, click_ …Hannibal wove the knife through the fingers of one hand, his lined face stoic as he considered.

           “You be a good kid and lay off the recreational Mab. There’s extra cash, I want you to spend it on something useful…like therapy. Not Panels and definitely _not drugs_. We square, nerd?”

Newt assented mumbling under his breath. He jittered and inched unthinkingly towards the exit.

     “Oh yeah. We’re quadrilateral, dude.”

There was a sharp _thunk_ as the butterfly knife flew through the air and buried itself deep into a wooden pillar in the center of the room, the end shivering with residual force inches from Newt’s nose. Hannibal started to laugh as Newt jumped a good foot in the air, letting out a high-pitched squeal. Chau pointed towards the door, picking up his drink to take a long, drawn out sip.

     “Then _scat_.”

  

   In 2014, people stopped dreaming. It didn’t happen all at once; in fact, it happened so slowly people didn’t even notice at first. It happened in that painful, gradual way that cancer kills. By the time anyone even began to catch on, only one in every five thousand people could still dream.

The dreams were one thing, but it was the lost sleep that really started to cripple. Newt often thought about just how quickly the world had fallen apart. It started with San Francisco, one of the first cities to stop dreaming. The shitstorm rippled out from this small seemingly harmless condition; the lack of flashing images during REM sleep quickly turned into something worse. No sleep at all. Aside from the Nemos it was like everyone within a hundred miles of the San Fran town center had caught simultaneous insomnia, and then…Trespasser.

Newt walked out into a blue-black world full of falling snow. He shivered as the warehouse door slammed behind him, echoing down the empty back alley. Glancing around, he pushed a trembling hand into his messenger bag, fingers caressing the edge of his new Panels. He needed to get going. Crime bosses didn’t typically keep their lairs in the swankiest neighborhoods and it was getting dark. Getting dark…whatever. The winters in Kansas lasted about eleven months of the year. It started to get dark at five o’clock in the afternoon on a good day. Getting dark? Yeah, try always dark.

Clutching his bag tight under one arm, Newt took off at a run. He navigated steaming back alleys and the loud crowds of the Morse Street flea market. The red light district was yawning to life, just opening up for business. It was almost seven and most of the little curtain-shrouded, hole in the wall restaurants were full of people looking for a cheap dinner. The brunt of them were just getting off work from some blue-collar factory job, something that left them sore and slow and covered with grease. Newt’s footfalls down the street were muffled by the coating of fresh snow and the slush of salted ice. Hannibal’s handkerchief was still up his nose, going crusty with drying blood.

He snorted around it, breathing through his mouth his breath fogging his glasses. Escaping the loud cluttered confusion of Morse Street, he passed a stall selling live chickens and paused, backtracking. The last train to the Shatterdome didn’t leave till ten…he had time. Newt scanned the masses furtively before he ducked behind the adjacent cages of screeching hens and cawing roosters. Counting doors, he made it to the back of an old concrete building that had once been a funeral home. Wiping cold beads of sweat from his forehead, he knocked a complicated tattoo on the door and waited bouncing on the balls of his feet.

A narrow window slid open high in the door and a pair of very unfriendly grey eyes glared out at him. A woman spoke, her voice a raspy and unfriendly French.

     “<Geiszler. You looking to buy?>”

It took Newt a minute to answer; he spoke maybe ten words of French total and the ones he did know he pronounced wrong.

     “Um…Hey Dinorah… <I am, Sergio here?>”

The eyes considered and spoke slowly so he could keep up.

     “<No, he isn’t. How much do you want?>”

Newt shivered, looking nervously back over his shoulder, reaching into his bag and touching the envelope wrapped around the three Panels. Still puffing for breath he yanked it loose and pulled a crisp hundred dollar bill from it, waving it at the door.

     “Just…just give me hundred bucks worth. Look, I even have cash!”

The window slammed shut and Newt was left with his teeth chattering in the cold. After five agonizing minutes, the metal door slid all the way open. He scurried in and a lean older woman with a thin weary face watched him impassively. _More unsavory underworld characters_ , Newt thought rather fanatically as he melted under her glare. Dinorah’s pale eyes traveled from the snow in Newt’s hair to his uneven pupils and finally to the stained rag in his nose. Her heavy accent was hard to plow through with his head hurting, but Newt managed it.

     “Just come from Hannibal’s then?”

Newt grinned sheepishly.

     “Maybe…”

She didn’t smile back. She looked at him a minute more before beckoning him to follow, plodding down the narrow entryway. After a ways she parted a beaded curtain and they entered into the dream den. It had all the charm of a high-class opium den; Newt stayed in the doorway wringing his hands, unwilling to take another step forward. He glanced uneasily around at the maze of sofas and beanbag chairs. The room was purposefully dark, people lying around him in a haze of incense and classical music. Most of them were asleep, either torpid from the effects of Mab or hooked into archaic sleeper-rigs.

The people lounging about in a half-delirious stupor in Sergio D’onofrio’s Mab parlor probably weren’t Nemos, just the average civilian trying to escape reality for an hour or two…maybe catch a quick nap. They were probably watching Panels they had experienced a million times before, the same old chased down the hall, falling off a cliff nightmares that were the easiest to come by these days; the standard IDDC issued material that wasn’t hard to get your hands on.

They had released a surplus of the mediocre stuff at the beginning of the war and still made a couple new ones every few months. That was back before the attacks escalated, back when sleeper-rigs were being mass-produced and anybody could buy one. Those days were long gone. If you wanted the good shit you had to go through a dealer, an underground one- a highly _illegal_ one, like Hannibal Chau.

Newt was so buried in his own thoughts he didn’t even notice Dinorah at his elbow until she laid a hand on his shoulder in a bear-trap grip. He whirled around, glasses falling down his nose as he wriggled, trying to get away from her. She narrowed her eyes.

     “Here…”

Dinorah held a small metal case out to Newt, but pulled back when he reached for it eagerly.

     “You don’t take it so fast this time. You die, Chau will hold us responsible…”

Newt gave an exasperated groan, reaching for the case again only to have the woman grab his wrist and twist it until the bones started to grind.

     “Ah! _FUCK_! Ow ow _ow_!”

She didn’t flinch at his cries of pain letting her arm slowly sink down with him as he sank to the ground.

     “I am not joking. You overdose, Chau loses a Nemo and we are blamed. _Promise_.”

     “God, I promise! I PROMISE!”

The woman’s neon-blue painted lips finally parted in a smile and she let him go, her voice turning sickly sweet.

     “Good.”

 

   The Topeka Shatterdome was the largest IDDC base in the continental United States. It was second in size only to the Moscow Dome, which was borderline ridiculous in terms of sheer mass. Newt shivered into his wet leather jacket and watched the signs outside the train window. The first rust-ridden sign threatened as it blurred past; _No Unauthorized Personnel_. Another read: _All staff must display appropriate identification_. The words glared almost in accusation as the train entered a tunnel. Newt bit at his nails and bounced his leg, humming to himself.

The last of the Mab Liang had given him was wearing off. The nosebleed had long since stopped but the headache showed no signs of abating; it wouldn’t. Not until he took another dose.

     “…just another fifteen minutes…maybe twenty and I’ll b-be home.”

The spasms up and down Newt’s spine sent waves of scalding pain behind his eyes. He hissed through his teeth, glad he hadn’t made any social plans with Tendo. The encounter with Dinorah had left a bad taste in his mouth. As nice as it was that Sergio gave him discounts on account of his connection to the IDDC, it didn’t seem worth it if they were going to start limiting the amounts of Mab he could buy. He would probably have to find another dealer soon. _Or_ , the little voice in his head suggested, _maybe you could just lay off the stuff…go sober for a while. It wouldn’t kill you, Geiszler_.

Newt let a bitter chuckle slip through his clenched teeth. Yeah, right.

He was the only one on the train; the commuters had gone home hours ago. A fair number of employees lived in the city surrounding the Dome rather than inside it. Newt saw no reason to keep a filthy, rat-infested apartment outside when he had a perfectly good, filthy, rat-infested place to live so close to his lab.

Fiddling nervously with his ID badge, Newt sprinted off the train before the doors were even completely open, passing more brightly colored warning signs; _Contraband Will Be Confiscated_ and the bizarre _Shatterdome-Issue Shoes Only_.

Newt swore under his breath when he read that particular sign. He almost always forgot to change before he went in the halls and the last thing he needed was another reprimand; he was skating on thin ice with Marshall Kushner as it was. The locker room where he had stuffed his soft-soled Shatterdome shoes was five hallways off. He opted for the easier and colder option. Leaning down Newt pulled off his damp boots and slung them over his shoulder by the laces, making his way to his room in his socks.

The interior of the Shatterdome was always full of echoes, even when it was completely empty. The world wavered with the far-off drip of water and the distant rumble of voices, a ghostly stream of constant noise that made Newt want to stop and look nervously over his shoulder every few paces.

He passed some mechanics and a tech he didn’t recognize but none of them bothered to give him the time of day; they were either just getting off work or heading in for night shifts. The walk to his quarters took a good thirty minutes. Newt could have made the effort and hitched a ride with one of the soft-wheeled golf carts that were constantly sniffing the halls for intruders, but what if the security guards just decided it was time for a random bag check? They could do that. They would do that.

Newt was not a popular resident. He was the kooky spooky Kaiju-man way out in Hall O-10. He was nothing but a scraggly mad scientist who had lost the support of just about everyone in the Jaeger program and a reputation - not undeserved - of drug abuse. Even the Marshall would have dumped him if he could.

The Topeka Dome halls ran in a snail shell’s spiral pattern, winding downward one on top of each other in huge rolling circles. About twenty floors down the spiral would branch off into little bunkers or larger rooms, and at the heart of the whole mess was the Hangar Bay. Newt would only head that direction if there were an attack. The only other reason he would have to be there was to see Tendo; his last true-blue friend worked on the golden bridge itself, LOCCENT, last bastion of freedom and security…-cue salute and fireworks.

By the time he reached his own corroded iron door Newt was about ready to collapse. His head was aching so badly he could barely form coherent thoughts. Spinning the thick wheel-like door handle he muscled his way into the dark hallway and up the short flight of stairs to his room. He lived above his lab in what had once been a glass observation deck. Before he had ever come to Topeka they had used the room for experimental Jaeger testing; the walls were still lined with radioactive shielding as proof of its history.

The entire wall opposite of Newt’s sleeping quarters occupied by sunken fans the size of minivans. Newt wasn’t sure what they had been used for exactly-he had never turned them on. Hell, he didn’t even know if they still worked, but if they did one flick of one switch and all his samples and equipment would have been blown into a flat pancake pile under the elevated observation deck.

Newt didn’t look down at his quiet lab now. He couldn’t be bothered to think about all the work he needed to catch up on. Struggling into his improvised living space, he made sure the blankets he had put over the glass windows were firmly in place. Minute flickers of colored light squeaked into the sides but it was barely noticeable. Clicking on a dim table lamp, he blinked against the brightness, his head giving a dull angry throb. Newt cringed rubbing his temples for a very uncomfortable minute or more. He could feel vomit attempting to climb up the back of his throat.

Tamping it down he crumpled into a trembling heap on a tatty old armchair. All his furniture was salvaged from the rest of the Shatterdome’s trash, held together with duct tape and crossed fingers. Taking deep breaths, Newt stared at the crossed metal beams of his ceiling. A half dosage… he could take half a dose and sleep this off. Hands now shaking violently, Newt reached into his bag and drew out the Panels and the metal case that Dinorah had given him. Flipping it open he let out a soft, furious whisper.

     “ _Fuck_ …”

The metal case was full of tiny fluid-filled glass vials, each about the size of a peanut. Six of them glowed with the warm embryonic pink light of pure Mab but the final two were a dull orange. The bitch had slipped him straight up Sunset. Nemos took Mab to make them dream but everyone, Nemo or not, eventually used Sunset. It was what had, albeit temporarily, saved the world. When people had stopped sleeping worldwide, it was the orange wonder drug that had knocked them all out and induced a false REM sleep that allowed the civilized world to keep its sanity. While non-Nemos could enjoy Mab as a powerful opiate…Sunset did nothing for Newt but knock him out into a restless, _dreamless_ sleep.

He had paid for a whole case of Mab and she had slipped him useless orange Kool-Aid. Sergio had most likely been there the whole time - he probably thought it was just hilarious. Newt ground his teeth and immediately regretted it, putting his head between his knees and moaning deep in his throat. Things could be worse…he could deal with this. He still had six hits and the Panels. He would just have to make them last. Newt straightened slowly rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Standing unsteadily he pulled off his wet coat and stripped down to his underwear.

His sleeper-rig was beautiful. Newt had built it himself from scratch; it had taken him nearly a year to get the custom parts and some he had made himself. He picked it up and ran his hand over the blue-metal squid cap, thumb rubbing slow circles over the skull cradle, the prong lights. Setting Hannibal’s latest Panels on the blown out speaker that served as his nightstand, Newt murmured fondly to the rig.

     “Hey, gorgeous. You ready for lights out?”

The first Panel was the most promising; the good stuff, probably full blown narratives. Hannibal was well known for his strong surreal dreams but he was also known to dabble in narratives. Newt liked the plotty ones alright, especially if they were first person points of view, but he was a connoisseur of the sensation dreams; flying, swimming, floating…that kind of thing. He craved it.

Newt debated, and then set the first aside. He wouldn’t enjoy it as much in the state he was in. Even when he did take another hit this was the kind of Mab hangover that ruined a good dream, and he wasn’t going to waste the experience. Turning the second Panel over in his hands Newt found a thin, barely discernible strip of red tape stuck to the interior of the Panel’s plastic casing. Red tape meant only one thing: wet dreams.

Newt stuck out his tongue and put this one aside as well. Wet dreams were okay; they sold like crazy but they weren’t really his thing. Sure, he had to admit he was in the mood for one once in awhile but it was weird in the same way porn was weird. Even when he was ‘participating’ he wasn’t really the one doing it. Plus most of the sex dreams had a tendency to feature post-war movie stars or people that he knew were real and existed somewhere. That was about as far from a turn-on as he could imagine.

He leaned the red-tagged Panel against the lamp on his side table and picked up the last cartridge, the one Hannibal had told him contained odds and ends. Probably only five to ten minute dream fragments and not full on half-hour segments. Newt didn’t bother with these most of the time. Sometimes if he was strapped for material Hannibal would have his people edit different fragments together into longer streams of consciousness; the bargain bin sample tapes of the recording industry.

Newt sniffed, shrugged and popped the slab of grey plastic into the rig’s computer set-up. The sleeper-comp was about the size of a boom box from the early 1990’s and just as portable, covered in gleaming buttons and multicolored readout-screens.

     “Ah…what the hell, Chau. Let’s see what we got.”

A heads-up display appeared above the boxy rig and Newt examined it. He was surprised; there were four tiny chunks of ten minute content but a large twenty-five minute long recording at the end. That was almost a full experience. He could easily stick that on a regular Panel. Newt speculated about it curiously. Maybe it was blank in places? That happened sometimes. The brain just forgot it was in the middle of a dream and went black for minutes at a time before resuming.

Newt queued the five-minute shorts and the longer dream into a feedback loop and placed the squid-cap over his head. Buckling the round cylinder of the spinal relay to the back of his neck, he burrowed into his tattered quilt and made himself comfortable on a mound of wadded blankets and flat pillows; his bed was a pile of Shatterdome issued mattresses four thick on the bare floor. He even hadn’t bothered with a bed frame.

The room was silent except for the faint electric hum of his rig and the buzz of his lab just beyond the darkened windows. Newt wrestled with the tiny metal box and pulled out a vial of Mab. Pressing a button on the bottom of the little thing made a retractable needle shoot from the top, transforming it into a dart. All he was missing was an unaware Indiana Jones and a blowgun and he would be set.

Newt giggled gleefully at his own joke and ran questing fingers over his collarbone and up to the back of his neck. He found the tiny bump of the medical port under the tattoo near his clavicle. He was lucky; not everybody could afford a port. There were plenty of everyday citizens just injecting their Sunset and ending up with roadmaps of track marks over their arms. There were pills now, but they were harder to find and easier to counterfeit. Better to stick with what you knew worked.

The familiar prick of pain as the needle slid into the port was a relief. Newt counted to five as he pushed the plunger switch on the side of the vial with his thumb, yanking it away before he could drain it. Setting the leftovers back into the metal case he placed it on top of the unwatched Panels and settled into his unwashed sheets, trying to empty his mind. His heart stopped for one beat…two. Started again. He felt his chest shake as it pounded, knocking hard to get back into an even rhythm.

Everything went indistinct and blurred as his thoughts turned to syrup. Newt took a lengthy breath and held it, reaching up to touch the activator on the top of the squid cap. His room dropped away, the stale air and muted noises of the waking world disappearing into the fine azure mist of dreaming. Mab crawled through his veins relaxing every muscle into the consistency of a limp rubber band. The headache was snuffed out as the drug soaked sponge-like into his brain, and every shit problem he might have had only moments before lost any shred of meaning or importance.

The Pons hummed and the Panel started to cycle, vibrating through Newt’s skull. The snippets were sub-par even by the basest standards; the first a simple stress dream involving rotten teeth. Newt looked at his reflection in a mirror at a face that wasn’t really his. It was an older woman in her fifties; he looked down at himself…herself…themselves. It was their dream now. He reached into his mouth and felt his teeth come loose; they clinked into the sink one at a time with the ting of enamel hitting porcelain. He picked up one of the molars and desperately tried to jam it back in wiggling it around in the gum. It didn’t hurt…but it wouldn’t stay. He felt it fall out and put it back in over and over again…He could taste the iron tang of blood and feel a thrill of fear. The Mab amplified it and he forgot himself in the experience, picking up tooth after tooth just to lose them again.

The dream ended. The next short was another stress dream; Hannibal must really have been strapped. He probably hadn’t even recorded these…maybe he had bought them from another dealer…or some amateur with a portable recorder. Newt looked at his feet; there were snakes everywhere. It was the lawn of some suburban house…the dreamer’s, most likely. Wrapped around the patio furniture and the grill were thousands of snakes. Newt knew he had to walk across them. Compelled to get past the swarming curling bodies, he took his first step covering more ground then was physically possible. Each step was a mile but he was making no progress. He was getting nowhere and the snakes bit at him, snapping wide tooth-filled jaws. They bit him over and over again as he made his way across infinite grassy yard, the smooth black bodies of the vipers somehow doubling in number with every failed attempt to advance. He was running out of places to step…before long he would be resting his feet on snakes, soon he would have nowhere to go.

The next two were more of the most common crap that Newt could find anywhere. He was lost in a house that became a school…there was something following him he could _almost_ see. He knew he had to get somewhere but there was nowhere to go. Now he was walking through ground that gripped at his ankles; more anxiety dreams. Well, with the current state of the world everybody who could still dream was having these things. His mind rolled through the darkness and there was a small gap before the very last dream on the Panel started to cycle.

The vague, half-conscious part of Newt’s mind, the part that was still somewhat alert on the other side of the Pons and the Mab, knew immediately that this was different. There was a hiccup, like the film had been cut unevenly and he caught a brief glance of …something. A black and white room. It was gone before he could even identify what he had seen and now he was staring up at a sky full of stars. They were red and the spaces between them a bizarre, dark violet. These were not the colors of a sky found on Earth. The world had a strange smell- sulfur perhaps, or methane. It burned when Newt took a deep breath and he- _the dreamer_ raised their eyes to the heavens.

Planetary bodies revolved overhead but they were nothing identifiable from Earth’s solar system; Newt was damn sure of that. From over some dim watery horizon a golden moon rose into the sky. It was shattered down the center and rocky pieces of its own body hovered around the crack. It was so close it seemed to touch the surface of the planet where Newt stood, so huge and heavy he could almost reach out and touch it.

An ocean boiled near his feet and Newt realized he was on a beach. The waves didn’t lap gently so much as crash and pull in a savage irregular motion, the thrust and drag of the black water erratic and violent. The moon tilted slowly and a great distance away where the inky ocean met the battered purple sky light appeared. A red sun was rising, coating with world with sticky radiance the color of blood. Newt raised a pale long-fingered hand in front of his eyes and turned his face away taking a painful step towards a cluster of slick obsidian rocks.

A dead fish had washed up on the shore but like the broken moon and scab-colored sun this thing was unlike any fish found on earth. It flopped weakly, the horizontal gill slits running down its stomach slamming open and shut as it gasped for air. The wide eyes the size of bicycle wheels stared blindly at the dreamer as they approached. The fish was easily the length of a man…as big as a cow. The luminous light in its skin flashed as it died. Newt could smell more of the hot chemical odor blowing off it. It seemed to be made of more light than flesh. It was just like …

A noise startled him-the dreamer- _them_. Far out at sea where the swollen supernova of a sun was rising, some animal cried out. High over his head in the caustic yellow clouds a megalith moved closer. The world shook with its steps and one by one the foreign stars disappeared, eaten by the tainted morning light. The monster roared again, its coughing voice filling the alien world. The dreamer took a step back.

Newt felt their body shaking, their lungs burning. He took a step back and the Mab told him that it was real. He was here and this dream was the most real he had ever seen. More enormous fish washed up on the shore. More noises stabbed his brain…and then…

The rig computer shut off the Panel automatically when it reeled to the end.

Newt’s eyes burst open and he sat up, gasping for air. Sweat ran in thick rivers down his neck and spine. He felt cold and hot at once, disoriented and for a long moment unsure of where he was. It was one of the most intense dreams he had ever experienced. Even on only half a hit of Mab, it had felt like he was there. Not just there-but _THERE_.

     “S-shit…shit…okay...”

Newt panted looking around his dark room, holding himself and rocking rhythmically back and forth. The glow of his alarm clock told him that barely an hour had passed; the length of the Panel almost to the minute. He pressed his knuckles to his scalp and let out a hysterical laugh. Eventually the worst of the high wore down and he managed to pull the squid cap off, sprawling back in bed. Looking at the Pons in one hand he scrubbed the other over his face. The last tremoring after-shakes stopped and he was left with more questions than he knew what to do with.

Someone had _created_ that. Who? How?? Even in what were quite literally his wildest dreams Newt had never seen anything that vivid. His gaze wandered over to the metal vial-case. There was no way he was going to sleep now, not with all the manic thoughts bouncing off the sides of his skull. Maybe being slipped a few doses of Sunset wasn’t such a terrible thing after all. He needed time to decompress and really figure this out. For the first time in months he had a sudden painful desire for dark blackout sleep.

Just as he made up his mind and reached out to grasp the case, the distant clamor of an alarm sounded. The entire Shatterdome was a gong being struck by an enthusiastic toddler. Newt rolled off his sweat sopped bed and roughly pulled a blanket covering his window aside. The screeching alarm and flashing emergency lights at the far end of his lab could only mean one thing.

_Kaiju attack._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank Bluestar enough for her help on this chapter. She co-authored Newt's dinosaur dream, formatted everything and did a beautiful proofreading job. Thanks also to Chal who is just a great freaking beta-reader.
> 
> More tags and description will be added on as the story progresses. This story was (ironically) all based on a dream I had and is a big experiment in world building. Hope you guys enjoy it.


	2. Cleveland Rocks

As he pulled on a pseudo-clean pair of skinny jeans and a filthy t-shirt, Newt realized that half a vial of Mab had just barely lasted the length of a sixty-minute Panel. A normal person would have been out cold for at least five hours; not to mention he had just been given way more then a full dose for the recording session earlier. His body really was becoming acclimated to it.

He was going to have to start taking more and more just to feel the same high. _Or_ , a frantic little voice in Newt’s head rationalized, _D’onofrio is diluting his stock_.

That made sense. Mab was expensive and the guy was a skeeze; his M was probably watered down to nothing, and that was all the more reason to switch dealers as soon as possible.

Newt pushed the thoughts away. His recreational drug habits were not the biggest things to be worried about right now. He laughed nervously to himself, tightening the laces on his spare pair of Shatterdome issued soft-soled boots. Biggest thing to be worried about. _Kaiju_. That was funny; he was so goddamn _funny_ sometimes. It was shame nobody was around to appreciate it.

Pushing his glasses up his nose and running unsteady hands through his wild hair, Newt left his lab and joined the throngs of people shuffling through the Shatterdome hallways. Men and women of all ages and races made their eerily muffled way to their designated battle stations. Their faces were calm and very few moved faster then a swift walk; speedy foot traffic supposedly lead to collisions and gridlock. Marshall Kushner pushed a slow and steady agenda on the Dome in most areas, and his policies actively discouraged running in the halls.

Newt made room for a tram to pass. This one was too full for him to catch a ride, but maybe the next one would have more room. The alarm he had heard in his room wasn’t blaring in the shared hall but the ceiling-mounted blue emergency lights were flashing, filling the corridors with a murky cobalt haze. The light, coupled with the distressing lack of voices and footsteps, created a deeply unsettling atmosphere.

If the emergency lights had blinked on red instead of blue, Newt was sure there would have been a _lot_ more running, no matter how much the Marshall frowned upon it. A red light would mean a Kaiju attack on Topeka. Blue meant it was somebody else’s problem; blue meant the Topeka Dome would be helping from a comfortable distance.

Another longer tram trundled by, this one carrying three commuter cars behind it. It looked like something used to cart tourists around a movie studio back lot; definitely not keeping with the Shatterdomes military ambiance. Still, the hokey little carts could save you serious time getting from place to place. Newt jogged just fast enough to catch the tram when it stopped at two intersecting corridors. He hopped on and plopped into an empty seat next to some gossiping mechanics.

Eavesdropping was how Newt got about ninety percent of his intel these days. The rest of it came from Tendo, but ever since he had been _promoted_ he wasn’t around as much. Not that Newt was lonely. _Perish the thought_.

     “Yeah, they’re already getting the twins into their drive suits…”

Newt leaned in closer, the conversation catching his interest; he wasn’t being very subtle, but he trusted they would ignore him. Being ignored was his secret superpower. The man who was speaking wore a grubby yellow jumpsuit that signified he was an electrician, and he was speaking to a woman in dark grey construction gear, his voice hushed and fearful.

     “Is it appearing that quickly? They’ve just barely turned on the alarm…usually we get at least a day for prep.”

     “They’re coming faster. Haven’t you noticed how slammed we’ve been? It seems like the minute we kill one another pops up. Electric is barely staying ahead of it. We only just rewired Blue since the attack on Denver…”

Newt’s brain fizzled like a fried egg. He phased in and out of the exchange, thoughts spiraling in a pattern similar to the curling hallways the tram traveled. Yeah, they were right. There had been more of them. He knew that better then anyone. They were coming faster and by his estimation _bigger_ with each fresh assault. Did that mean something? Yeah, of course it did, he just hadn’t figured out what yet. The electrician pulled uncomfortably at his rawhide gloves, eyeing Newt sideways before forcing his voice even lower.

     “I don’t think many people in the Dome know it but the Brave isn’t operational. Topeka’s only got one Jaeger right now. If Romeo fails…”

His confidante gasped and Newt himself felt an uncomfortable tug in his stomach. Every Dome was supposed to have at least three active units. It was just policy. Most Domes could only deploy one or two at a time, but Topeka was an exception. Because of its strategic importance the massive Shatterdome could harvest enough energy from the surrounding area to power at least four Jaegers. In theory, anyway. It had never been tested.

     “What’s wrong with Horizon Brave? And don’t we still have the Umbra Astral?”

     “My shift manager says money is tight. Brave’s towers are shot but they haven’t even given the order to start fixing them. And the Astral…I think its operational, but even if it is it doesn’t have any pilots. You know…not since the _Greys_.”

Their discussion tapered off awkwardly. Nobody liked to talk about the Grey siblings. Newt had broached the subject with Tendo more than once; on several of those occasions it had actually been for professional reasons, not just selfish curiosity.

The Grey siblings had experienced a severe Drift malfunction. Or, to put it in more colorful language, their brains had been scrambled, the nerves knotted together like a VHS tape’s innards tangling in a VCR player. It was almost merciful that they hadn’t survived. They would have been vegetables for the rest of their natural, tube-fed lives.

Newt bounced his leg, eyebrows furrowed. From the moment he had woken up he had felt not quite there, a surreal sensation of only partially inhabiting himself; it was as though he was observing everything from a distance. It was wearing off gradually, but certain impressions remained stubbornly where they were, the most distressing of which was the feeling that there was still something _off_ about his hands. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was and kept staring at the alien things at the end of his wrists with keen interest. To anyone watching him, it probably looked really weird.

Something nagged from deep in his subconscious. Okay, yeah, his fingers were wrong…that was one thing. They were supposed to be long and graceful, pale. Not these stubby, thick calloused things that were covered with freckles and acid burn scars. He turned them over, staring at them blearily as the two jumpsuits started to chatter again, their conversation turning from dead Rangers to more inane subjects.

Newt blocked them out, determined to solve the mystery of his hands; so the fingers were wrong and he wasn’t pale enough…and his knuckles should have been more prominent, the knobby bones of his joints visible through the translucent skin. Instead of his trimmed, clean fingernails he had these filthy, bitten-down- wait. Newt gave a half-strangled laugh.

     “Haha! _FUCK_!”

The electrician flinched when Newt spoke aloud, and half the transport car turned to stare. Newt cackled and held his hands out to all of them, frantically wiggling his fingers.

     “They’re not HIS hands, see? They’re MINE. Haha! Oh god, I really AM losing my fucking mind!”

More than a dozen people were staring now, their expressions ranging from panic to pity. Newt was so engrossed he barely noticed. This was something totally new; he had never suffered body dysmorphia from a Panel session before. Once he woke and came back to himself, he was able to completely separate from the dreamers in his Mab trips, but not this time. He had seen the dreamer’s hands, felt their heart in his chest and now, for the first time, he was being haunted by them while he was awake. Pushing his hands into his pockets, Newt shook himself and a jolt of electricity zipped through his nervous system. No. He was cool, he was _fine_. This was just a weird Mab side effect. It was _definitely_ going to pass.

Blinking, Newt realized that they were nearing LOCCENT. Casting a last look at the other gawking passengers, he gave a sheepish half-smile, a blush creeping up his neck into his cheeks.

     “Haha…sorry! Sorry everybody! Just. Um. Don’t mind me. Go about your business…heh… _oooh_ boy.”

The cart slowed as it came near a designated stop and Newt leapt off, speed walking towards the control bridge with his head ducked down. He would investigate this hand thing afterwards; this was not a _Now_ Newt problem, this was a _Later_ Newt problem.

Staggering into the active bridge, Newt looked around the squirming mass of techs and onlookers. LOCCENT was in chaos and he knew better than to get tousled in it. Jostling his way to the side of the enormous donut-shaped control room he found an office chair and sat, determined to be nothing but a fly on the wall. He knew that he probably looked as strung out as he felt. At least the Panel session had calmed the post-recording headache and the jittering in his hands. He could make it through this. Aside from a bothersome spot of dissociative disorder, he was okay.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder and Newt jumped, head snapping up and eyes wide. Mab dependency heightened his pre-existing tendency towards paranoia something awful. He was jumpy even on the best days; ‘high strung’, as his dad liked to say. He calmed when he recognized the hand’s owner. Chief Tech Officer Tendo Choi grinned down at him and Newt melted into his seat. He pulled his own hand weakly from its hiding place in his pocket to clasp Tendo’s arm.

     “Fuck, Tendo…what’s going on? Where is it? N-Nevada? Colorado?”

Tendo didn’t even look slightly frazzled by the clash of noise and activity around him, his hair immaculately slicked and his shirt freshly ironed. How he found the time to iron between his near constant shifts on the bridge was beyond Newt’s comprehension.

     “Nah, man. Ohio. Closer to the great lakes…it’s in Cleveland.”

Newt chewed his lower lip, fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm on his thigh.

     “That’s pretty fucking far from here. Why not deploy from like…Thunder Bay or um…what’s the Dome in Maine?”

Tendo knelt next to Newt, looking into his eyes critically. The tech smelled like stale coffee and sweat.

     “Bangor. You’re thinking of the Shatterdome in Bangor. Thunder Bay doesn’t have any active units right now and Bangor is about the same distance, but honestly, we have better resources. I mean, Maine is small compared to us. The New England Dome just isn’t that big.”

Tendo reached into his pocket and looked around to see if anyone was watching before he pulled a shining metal cylinder his breast pocket. It looked like an ink pen at first glance, but was actually a cleverly camouflaged electronic cigarette. Tendo had switched from real tobacco to e-cigs somewhere around his third year on the job. Neither of them knew if it was any better for him than the rolled type.

     “You know, Newt, I’m not trying to sound crazy or anything but it’s like…almost like the Kaiju are trying to find a blind spot. I mean, _Cleveland_? Seriously? That’s just on the bare edge of our coverage.”

Newt glanced around fretfully and did his best to block Tendo so nobody would spot him sneaking a smoke. People would notice the smell, but it would take longer then one would think with the rank scent of electricity and body odor overpowering everything. The LOCCENT air was consistently hot and sticky, almost unbreathable.

     “Has it started flickering yet? Do you have first contact confirmation?”

Tendo rooted around in his slacks for the tiny container of nicotine solution for his cigarette. He motioned to a stand of monitors sprouting treelike from one of the tracking stations. Right now, it showed nothing but a blank city skyline; Cleveland’s, presumably. It was bigger than Newt thought it would be. Nothing as powerful as New York or impressive as Los Angeles, but still a big place. Ideal Kaiju bait.

     “No, but the readings are proof positive. Power’s already begun to flux. We’ve been expecting this awhile, but I was so goddamn sure it was gonna be Chicago or Detroit. The number of Howlers doubled in Detroit these past two weeks, and the Sunset use skyrocketed in Chicago and Ann Arbor…”

Tendo ducked his head down and the blue LED light on the end of his e-cig blazed to life. He took a deep breath and held it. The smoke that puffed out his nose was an off-blue color and smelled pleasantly of blackberry, Tendo’s favorite flavor.

     “We’re lucky that Thunder Bay keeps its ears on or we might have missed the signs completely. The Canadians save our butts once again.”

Newton swallowed hard and wheeled his chair closer, voice going hoarse from barely contained excitement. Aside from Mab, Kaiju were the best high.

     “Any bets on a category yet? Hundun levels? Karloff?”

Tendo worried the end of his cigarette with his teeth, the familiar clicking sound soothing on Newt’s jangled nerves. Around him he could feel the subtle shaking of the Dome; any minute it would start to expand. The massive roof panels opening like a flower blooming, exposing the hangar interior to the snow-chilled night air. The Shatterdome was constructed to withstand all sorts of disasters, be they earthquake or Kaiju. Most of the building was a solid immovable mesh of metal and concrete. But the top of the hangar bay, the “Dome” itself, was more akin to the roof of a sports stadium. The entire structure opening and closing like the shutter of an ancient camera.

     “My money is on _big_ , bigger than what we’re used to. I mean: they ain’t getting any smaller, brother.”

Tendo placed a hand on Newt’s jittering leg, stilling it, his face lined with evident concern. Tendo squinted intently into Newt’s eyes and when he spoke again there was a long-suffering sigh in his voice.

     “Well? Are you coming down or going up?”

Newt rubbed the back of his neck and turned his face upwards, away from Tendo. He stared beyond LOCCENT’s transparent glass ceiling, up to the immense steel petals of the Dome blooming above them.    

     “I was at a recording session, that’s all. I had to take some there. But I’m fine. I-I had a headache but I’m better now.”

Tendo gnawed at the end of his e-cig, obviously dissatisfied with Newt’s answer. He looked away, distracted momentarily by something on a nearby HUD. The vibrations rippling through the walls and floor suddenly intensified and at the center of the gigantic circular LOCCENT bridge a Jaeger rose into view.

A Jaeger unit was by nature a bizarre mess of discordant elements. Four obelisk-like pillars and cables the size of subway tunnels encased the round metal seed of the Conn-pod. The soaring monolith columns reached skyward and worked as transmitters for the pod.

It was a straightforward system, really. Two pilots operated it; two intensely compatible individuals would go inside the Conn-pod and Drift; Newt often wondered what the hell that was like. Drifting with someone meant being able to share a single dream, to mesh your brains together to form a giant super-computer. Once you had a team inside the pod, it decoded their brainwaves. The Jaeger transmitted the information and the Dome broadcasted it.

A Shatterdome was nothing more an insanely powerful, ferociously expensive satellite dish; the bigger the Shatterdome, the farther the broadcast. Topeka was grotesquely large because it was smack dab in the center of the continental United States. It served a huge chunk of the states around it.

Tendo’s grip on Newts shoulder tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of Newt’s hooded sweatshirt.

     “How much M did you _take_ , Newt?”

Newt avoided eye contact studiously, trying not to look at Tendo or give into the lingering urge to study his hands; he wound up staring at the doorway where he had come in.

     “Not… much?”

Tendo sighed heavily, taking a last puff on his e-cig he flicked it off and waiting for the metal to cool before jamming it back into his shirt pocket.

     “Newt, I…later. We’ll talk about this later.”

Now Newt was beginning to _really_ feel sorry for Later Newt. Things were not going his way at all. Tendo glanced over his shoulder and his frown deepened.

     “Just sit tight. You know the drill: there’s food on a table by the sweat lodge. You should seriously consider eating some.”

With a last reassuring pat Tendo strode purposefully towards a group of techs gathered around a readout screen. The sweat lodge was where a majority of LOCCENT’s servers were kept. It was hotter than the surface of the sun and sounded like an aviary full of drunk, dying birds. Newt hated going near it and the idea of any sort of food was just offensive.

He sat tight, eyes still trained on the door and stubbornly sticking to his plan to steer clear of his own hands. Just thinking about them was making his brain itch. What was it about the Panel that had caused such a strong reaction in him? Maybe it was a bad dose of Mab? Maybe his body was finally starting to rebel…or maybe it was something about the dreamer. Okay, but if it was the dreamer, that begged a serious question. _Why?_ Their dream had been freakishly detailed, but other then that…

Newt looked up surprised when someone stood close to his side. Even here, in the insane bustle of LOCCENT, people liked to keep their distance. Everybody seemed to sense the crazy radiating off him and left him a large bubble of personal space only Tendo was brave enough to enter.

Newt watched curiously as dark-skinned man in full military dress whispered to a surly teenage girl. They were so close he could hear that the man was speaking in Japanese spattered with a word or two of English. He had a heavy accent…British, maybe. There was something painfully familiar about him, but Newt was having trouble pinpointing where he had seen his face before.

Newt’s Japanese was only slightly better than his French and much worse than his German. Shatterdomes were full of all sorts of accents and languages; no matter where a Dome was located the people working in it were guaranteed to be diverse. Still, this was a curious pair. The man said something terse and the girl nodded, pressing her back to the wall with folded arms. He stood and offered Newt a cursory glance before melting into the general commotion.

The girl was herself was undoubtedly Japanese and didn’t look a year over sixteen, her short bob of hair framing her soft triangular face. Newt blinked at his new companion. Despite her age there was a hardness to her eyes that he found unsettling. She looked angry at being left on the sidelines, almost seeming uncomfortable in her own skin. Newt felt a sudden alien urge to start a conversation; hardly his strongest suit. Clearing his throat loudly and offering her what he imagined was a winning smile, Newt gestured towards the glowing plinths of the Romeo Blue.

     “So, You ever seen a Jaeger up close? You, um… ever been in a Shatterdome before?”

She gave him a look that could have curdled milk and stood at attention, eyes on the Cleveland live-feed. Night had fallen on the Great Lakes and the flickering electrical surges were becoming more noticeable, windows and streetlights guttering in and out in swift surges. Newt pushed on like he and the girl were having an actual chat and not a one sided barrage of noise.

     “Yeah, I mean…I’ve been in ‘em practically forever. Started out in the Dome in Eureka. That was the test Dome in Cali, right? The, um…the school where they started to train Rangers? Back before they built that monster in Elko where the transmission area was bigger. Eureka was okay. It’s just a way station now but back then it was cooking. We had a beach and everything. Too bad the Kaiju-”

She turned to him abruptly, voice irritated; she was doing her damndest to sound and look much older then she was.

     “I know about Eureka. I have visited all the major Shatterdomes and some of the small way-stations! Don’t treat me like an ignorant _child_.”

She examined him judgmentally, her eyes flicking over his face and then down to his arms. He followed her gaze downwards stomach squirming slightly when he saw his hands. The sight of them wasn’t as jarring this time and that was a good thing, but it wasn’t his hands she was looking at and he knew it.

     “Er…you like tattoos? I got this one in-”

She interrupted him voice crisp and straining for aloofness.

    “Why would you defile yourself that way? Why would you permanently mark yourself with those-”

She scrunched up her nose as if some foul taste filled her mouth, looking for a word strong enough to fully express her distaste.

     “-those _things_.”

Newton held up an arm and rubbed at the roaring Kaiju inked into his freckled skin. He shrugged, eyebrows furrowed. Why bother explaining this to a kid? He could barely explain it to his superior officers…or even himself. He was saved from any half-assed excuses by a flurry of excitement that broke wavelike over the bridge.

The Gage twins were one of the most experienced teams in the service of the International Dream Defense Corps. They were one of the first Ranger teams to join and the second to see actual combat. They strode down a narrow hangar bay catwalk towards the reflective chrome globe of Romeo’s Conn-pod. Next to the Jaegers transmission towers, the Rangers looked like toys; little armor-clad action figures no longer mint in the box.

The first brother - Newt was pretty sure it was Bruce - stopped in front of the Romeo and kissed three of his gloved fingers, pressing them to where the name and logo of his unit were painted on the side of a tower. After planting what Newt could only assume to be a good luck kiss he stood back and lowered his heavy helmet over his face entering the inside of the pod. Trevin followed suit and they were soon lost to view.

Newt felt his attention pulled between the pilots and the girl. She watched the whole procedure entranced, some of the harshness vanishing from her face and eyes. She really was a baby, all awkward limbs and slight overbite. Newt cleared his throat, making another intrepid stab at conversation.

     “Have you seen a launch before? I mean, you said you’d been in Shatterdomes so I assume…“

She tugged distractedly at a blue-dyed thatch of hair, never taking her eyes from the Romeo’s humming diffusion columns. She was so focused on the Jaeger and the launch that the severity towards Newt vanished somewhat, her stiff manner melting away to reveal the bright young woman underneath.

     “I have seen seven launches in total. Sensei and I witnessed three in Tokyo in just the past few months.”

Newt searched the bridge for the tall, stern looking man the kid had come in with. When he finally spotted him, Newt saw the he was chatting with Old Man – no, sorry, _Marshall_ Kushner. The Marshall wasn’t that bad a dude, really. He had stopped calling Newt in for performance reviews, and as far as he was concerned that was a sure sign of intelligence under the guy’s growing bald spot.

A sudden quiet settled over the bridge, barely broken by a soft mutterings. The energy readout screens gave a collective spasm and the Cleveland skyline went completely black for a full five minutes. A voice floated coolly over the LOCCENT speaker system and Newt felt his guts clench. He knew exactly what the guy was going to say.

     “We have a breach. I repeat; we have a breach. First contact established. Category Three Kaiju has been confirmed.”

The pattern was, fortunately, very easy to follow. The whole world suffered from dreamlessness, Nemos aside, but the sleeplessness concentrated itself into pockets: Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of people unable to fall asleep without Sunset’s sweet orange help all jammed into a single area. These exhaustion epidemics always happened in big cities; areas with high, concentrated populations. Once everybody was nice and fatigued…well, that was just about the time a Kaiju showed up.

The average time between a Kaiju breach and an insomnia outbreak was about a week. If you could figure out where and when the outbreak started, you could predict a breach to almost the second. There had been some guy who had figured out an exact formula once, but Newt didn’t remember his name.

The Kaiju themselves started as flickers. That wasn’t the technical term, but then again, with something like Kaiju there were few “technical” terms available. They defied logical description. They defied logic _period_. The electrical power of the affected area would start to sputter and then _boom_ , out of nowhere, twenty stories of unimaginable lumbering destruction.

Newt watched the Cleveland Kaiju’s outline appear slowly. It guttered in and out like a candle, the inside details vague and half-formed. They looked like neon signs or laser light shows, monstrous creatures made of dancing light. They were so fucking beautiful it hurt Newt’s heart. He felt a soft sigh escape his lips and whispered to no one in particular.

     “God. It’s big for a Cat Three.”

That was an understatement. It was bipedal, a little Karloff-like in proportion but not nearly as thin, lacking Karloff’s odd distorted grace. The cage of light forming the shape of its body was dominated with swirls of aggressive blue light and shot through with small threads of red and magenta. The most prominent feature was its horns, each the size of an oil tanker and curved like a bow. But they weren’t exactly horns, Newt realized after a moments careful inspection. They were more shaped more like the pincers of a stag beetle, each one elongated, barbed and lit from within.

The teenager at Newt’s side took a step back and he snapped back into himself just in time to hear Tendo initiating the Gage Twins’ drift. The girl was clenching her hands tightly into the collar of her uniform and shaking slightly. Newt reached out tentatively to brush her arm with the tips of his fingers. He wasn’t the best when it came to comforting people, not even in the top hundred, but she just looked so upset…

     “Hey…hey, its okay…”

She jumped and pressed her back to the wall, the moment of vulnerability gone as quick as it came. She snarled and pulled away from Newt sharply.

     “I am perfectly _fine_ -”

She was almost immediately drowned out by an influx of voices and bridge noise, and Newt turned from her to examine the skyline feed again. The Kaiju was taking its first ungainly steps forward; that was his cue. Casting the girl one more look, he stood from his chair and wandered through the mess of LOCCENT staff to Tendo’s workstation. There were at least ten Heads Up Displays surrounding his desk and five of Tendo’s assisting dispatchers were typing frantic commands into oversized keyboards. The wall-length screens that weren’t taken up by the Cleveland cityscape were occupied by real-time readouts of the Gage brothers’ vital signs. Tendo didn’t look away from the screen in front of him, but covered the mic in near his mouth to address Newt.

     “First impressions. What do you think? Strengths? Weaknesses?”

     “Does it have a codename yet?”

Romeo’s transmission towers buzzed violently, the Conn-pod’s metal surface reflected light so vividly it illuminated the clouds of dust motes hanging in the air, the Jaeger lifted upwards on its anchoring platform and reached for the blue-black sky through the open roof. Tendo groaned.

     “Newt, that is not what…screw it. Moloch. Thunder Bay started calling it Moloch, so I guess we’re sticking with that.”

Newt watched the colorful tendrils that gave Moloch shape take another tentative step through the city center. Cleveland shuddered and its lights flashed on and off collectively. The Pincer-horns seemed incapable of movement but they certainly increased the creature’s already considerable reach. There were the indications of armor on the Kaiju’s back, but not on its stomach…Newt could make out the edges of plates in the constantly flowing rivers of luminescence that made up its skin. The buildings behind it were visible through the hollow spaces between the Kaiju’s outlines. A secondary pair of vestigial arms formed from stray strings of light at Moloch’s sides and it let out an enraged roar. A shiver cut down Newt’s spine-…it sounded so much the Kaiju in the Panel dream.

     “ _Newt_ , suggestions on weaknesses if you _PLEASE_.”

Tendo actually turned to glare at him, his voice taking on an aggravated edge. Newt shifted between him and the screen a full minute as his brain, sluggishly considered how best to answer; the voice in his head sounded as tired as he was. _Focus, asshole, you’re the expert consultant. CONSULT._

     “Um. I’d go…go for the stomach. Back looks armored and there’s serious adaptations for long distance combat. The neck could be better protected… but the stomach? Yeah, definitely a weak spot. Stomach if they can, neck or throat as a last resort. ”

With a low frequency hum that reverberated through the entire Shatterdome, Romeo Blue began to relay. Techs checked and rechecked coordinates, and just like that the Gage brothers were hundreds of miles away. Their bodies may have been here in the shining bathosphere of the Conn-pod, but the conscious part of them was beaming from the middle of nowhere in Kansas to the banks of Lake Eerie.

The twins- well, a _manifestation_ of them- appeared as gradually as the Kaiju had. The projection, known as a Spectral, emerged as a gargantuan human-esque silhouette. Its body was also made of light, but unlike the strings and sinews that made up the Kaiju, the Spectral was more solid, something like a gelatin mold illuminated from the inside out. It took enormous strides towards Moloch’s back and paused to take in the situation, head cocked as if listening to the subconscious whispers from the LOCCENT deck.

Inside the Conn-pod the twins weren’t really asleep or awake; instead, they were in the half-conscious state that accompanied a drift, that strange grey area between waking and dreaming that allowed them to exist in the same plane as the Kaiju. It was the only way to fight the monster on its level. Fight fire with fire. Fight nightmares with dreams.

When Trespasser attacked there had been no way to stop it. There had been no way to _touch_ it. Physical weapons went right through a Kaiju when they first materialized; bombs, planes, tanks…all of them useless against something that didn’t quite exist. The United States did everything in their power and sent everything in their arsenal, but they could not fight something they could not touch. These rules, however, did not apply to the Kaiju. It could touch - and destroy -anything it damn well pleased.

Eventually the force that had pushed Trespasser from wherever it came from became too much strain on its mammoth body and it died on its own. Its three-day rampage left behind a swathe of destruction so horrendous in its scope it was near impossible to express with just statistics.

As if this damage had not been enough, the moment the Kaiju died its body became as solid and real as any other flesh and blood thing on Earth, the only difference being the thing’s blue blood was poisonous as hell. Trespasser had breached in San Francisco, birthed from some ethereal dimension unseen by human eyes. It had died over three hundred miles away just outside of Los Angeles, its body of light becoming a scaly carcass that oozed toxic waste.

Newt had left Boston that same day.

     “Alright boys, Doc Geiszler says to go for the stomach. Avoid those horns and hit the stomach with a projectile if you have it in you…remember what we talked about. Think hot: think cauterizing thoughts.”

The gigantic silhouette of light, the projection of the Gage brothers and their Jaeger gave a nod and took a decisive step forward, slowly raising one translucent hand. Its body gradually sharpened enough that something more concrete was formed. Although the face remained an amorphous blob, the chest and body became more defined, showing the just there outlines of a grown man’s musculature. The Spectral lifted its right arm and the appendage wavered, twisting into long, slightly curved blade.

Spectrals were something completely unique to each pilot pair, and maintaining one took intense mental and physical strength. Imagination was almost as important as teamwork when it came to “driving” a Jaeger and forming a Spectral. The Gage brothers weren’t the most impressive, really.

Newt had seen the Kaidonovskys in action and they were able to unify enough to change their entire form. They had taken out a Kaiju in the Ukraine with nothing but brute strength after changing their Spectral into a fifteen-story bear. A motherfucking _bear_. That was goddamn impressive. Most teams were only able to change pieces of their bodies, or maybe appear as something less human-shaped if their compatibility was strong enough. The Russian husband-wife team wasn’t the only one with the ability, true, but it was rare. It was something only the legendary could accomplish.

The Gage twins could change up to two extremities at a time. They weren’t very fast on their feet, but they could take a hit; Newt had to admit that what they lacked in agility they made up for in endurance. Moving into a fighting stance, the golden figure waited for the Kaiju to attack first. The waiting game was smarter given their track record, but it still made Newt nervous. Tendo spoke softly into his comm-link; he had been trained to keep his voice quiet and soothing. It was a real weird thing to worry about in the heat of battle, but it was supposedly better for the pilots.

     “Keep him downtown, guys…they’re trying to get the rest of the city evacuated…”

The Romeo Spectral held its stance and Moloch lowered its head, growling and taking an uncertain step forward. The Spectral’s soft gold glow flashed across the windows of the buildings around it. Newt could see it from all angles. Helicopters flew in wary circles, attempting to give the techs every possible view. Moloch paused, its entire body phasing in and out of existence in the space of a heartbeat. A car alarm went off under one of its huge heavy feet and the Kaiju gave a startled roar, lunging for the Spectral’s throat in its sudden panic.

They met in a clash of sparks and cracked asphalt. The twins held their ground and were pushed back by the charging horns, interlocking their blade with the sharp curves of light. Moloch managed to thrust them back a whole city block before the Spectral turned its body, twisting the Kaiju’s pincers to wrestle it onto its side. Light lingered in the air, afterimages tracing its path as it tumbled heavily to the street. The Kaiju’s writhing body demolished storefronts and trees as it toppled, showering the concrete with shards of steel and broken glass.

Choi and the other techs bustled bee-like on all sides while Newt analyzed every minute detail of the struggle, blocking them all out. His head was still feeling heavy, his brain a lead weight inside his skull. Moloch’s roars were so close to what he had heard on the beach surrounded by the giant extraterrestrial fish. The Kaiju’s back half shimmered faintly and Newt screeched a warning at Tendo and the comm-link.

     “On your right, Trevin…!”

Moloch’s tail swept the ground and tried to knock the Romeo’s Spectral off its feet; the twins managed to move enough that it only caught one ankle. The impact knocked the Spectral off balance, sending it crashing into the upper stories of a nearby office building. While the Rangers were distracted Moloch pushed itself up on all six limbs, working to regain its back feet. It shook its head, enraged, and the Spectral reached out to grab its horns with the hand that still had fingers.

The Kaiju made an attempt to turn and run, curling away even as the Spectral lurched forward with its blade arm raised. The Rangers were making a bold attempt to spear the monster through its stomach but Moloch seemed to sense what was coming. It screeched and shifted its weight, sending the blade away from its belly. Unable to pull back in time, the twins finished the sword stroke, cutting a sizzling arch across the Kaiju’s side. It screamed in fury and the two behemoths broke apart.

Romeo pushed Moloch backwards and used the rebound to slice downwards again. The front half of Moloch’s primary left arm separated from its body and fell heavily to the pavement. The instant it touched the ground the beautiful ribbons of light transmuted to muscle and flesh; the cauterized elbow joint steamed with noxious blue smoke.

Moloch shrieked and rose to its full height. It twisted away from the Gage twins, seemingly determined to put distance between itself and the Spectral so it could attack from a different angle. Before the Kaiju could take three steps, the twins reached out the arm that still retained its human hand. The limb shot out at lightning speed, lengthening by several feet to lasso the Kaiju. It stretched long fingers around the tail until they were joined together into a thick band, liquid light crawling across the threads of the Kaiju’s skin as the brothers sought out a better hold.

Getting to their feet, the twins turned the soft, featureless golden light of their vessel’s face towards Moloch. Raising the sword arm up, it started to distort and change again, the long curved blade becoming the round barrel of a tremendous gun. Before the final parts of the intricate firing mechanism had a chance to form, the Kaiju turned. Its teeth bared, all four sets of eyes wide and full of fire. Newt felt the words falling from his lips just as Tendo and started to shout an order.

     “Let him go! _Let him-_ ”

With a desperate lunge Moloch closed the distance between itself and Blue’s Spectral. As it pulled its tail around the Gages pitched forward and the Kaiju used their own forward momentum to drive one of its pincer-horns deep into the light of their Spectral’s chest. The twins fell back, their entire body shuddering. A patch of light around the pincer turned red, pulsing like a distressed heartbeat. Tendo jumped to his feet so fast his chair slammed to the floor behind him. He tried to keep his cool, collected tone, but it didn’t sound convincing to Newt and he doubted the twins were going to buy it. Leaning forward Tendo spoke firmly, his voice never rising above a forceful whisper.

     “Trevin, Bruce…you know it’s not real. You know it’s just like a dream. It isn’t real.”

All around Tendo the HUD’s flashed electronic warnings. The immense screen monitoring the pilot’s vitals turned into a jagged wall of spikes. The huge, intimidating man in full military regalia that had appeared on the bridge with the Japanese teenager pushed his way to the front of the crowd building behind Tendo. He took the comm-link microphone and tugged it away from Tendo, leaning down to speak to the twins himself. Newt didn’t stay close enough to hear what he had to say. Stepping back from the workstation, he felt the strange sense of unreality returning. The Romeo’s feed was faltering and the Conn-pod lowered clunkily back down to the hangar bay floor.

Gazing back up to the live-feed Newt could see the Blue’s Spectral was starting to wane. Moloch struggled to escape from the Spectral’s grip on its tail and pull free, it’s pincer still jammed up to the root in the twin’s collective chest. With a colossal effort, the wavering figure of the Spectral raised up an arm that was now a fully formed plasma gun. Golden light gathered into the chamber as they pressed the glowing muzzle directly in between the Kaiju’s eyes - and fired.

The light was so bright Newt and most of LOCCENT turned away from the glare. When he turned back Moloch lay in the rubble of downtown Cleveland, half of its skull blown clean away, a smoking crater all that was left of its brain. Newt couldn’t believe a single blast had taken it out…it was one hell of a shot.

Moloch’s body was still glowing slightly, but now it wasn’t caused by tendrils of light, only its organic body’s natural bioluminescence. Steam rose as the corpse started to cool, blue blood dripping from the monster’s teeth and dribbling from what was left of its eyes, pooling around the slackened jaw. The scales were pitch black and extremely reflective in its solid state. The pincer-horns almost looked like carved rock instead of bone and Newt eyed them eagerly, wondering how long it would take for him to get samples. A day at most, probably, maybe two…

Someone shoved past him and Newt went sprawling against the sharp corner of a monitoring station. He gasped and shrank against an observation window, focus tuning in and out. He suddenly felt extremely, painfully tired and tinges of anxiety were beginning to make themselves known. He wanted a hit of…something. _Anything_. Sunset or Mab, he didn’t care which as long as it kept the panic at bay.

Down on the Romeo’s broadcast platform a small army of EMTs were waiting for the Conn-pod to be opened. Newt winced as sparks flew from the overloaded transmission towers. He didn’t know the twins very well; outside of advising them over the comm or the odd hello in the commissary, they were strangers...but they seemed like good dudes. They definitely deserved better than this.

A hand lay on his shoulder and Newt looked around expecting to see Tendo. That was good; he would ask Tendo to give him clearance to leave. He would get to work on an initial Moloch write-up, and then…

     “Um.”

It wasn’t Tendo looking down at him this time. It was the severe, mustached face of the man in uniform - the military official who somehow had the clearance to use Tendo’s station. Newt gaped at the massive hand on his shoulder and stuttered.

     “C-can I…er..”

The man spoke in a voice as firm as his manner, somehow stressing every syllable and how important it was that Newt answer him.

     “Are you Doctor Geiszler…head of the K-science division?”

Newt stammered and hoped that he didn’t come off as out of it as he felt. Tendo had known immediately he had spent most of the day high as a kite; maybe this guy wasn’t as astute.

     “Yeah, that’s me and…ha ha…head? I-I’m the whole division…um. Sir? I..I don’t think we’ve met before. I never forget a mustache.”

The man’s frown intensified and the world around them became oddly muted, all Newt’s scattered attention focused sharply on the stern eyes boring into him.

     “Just you? I was lead to believe Topeka had one of the best science departments in North America…how long has it just been-”

He stopped himself and his hand pulled away from Newt’s shoulder.

     “Apologies, Doctor. I am Captain Stacker Pentecost…”

He hesitated and sighed before continuing, as if having some internal debate with himself.

     “You assisted Officer Choi. I assumed you were part of Topeka’s science department so -”

Newt interrupted, pulling at his shirt hem and trying to adjust some bit of himself that seemed out of place. He realized quickly that no amount of tugging at his clothes or fumbling with his glasses was going to do the job.

     “Hey, Cap…I don’t know where you’ve been, but the funding to K-sci has been kinda scarce lately. I used to have a little team of six or so…sometimes less if they traveled around. I mean, the most we ever had was that think tank in Guam but-”

He stopped, scratching at the bright colors of Yamarashi’s bared teeth just above his right wrist as he felt the urgency in LOCCENT rise in pitch. He followed Captain Pentecost’s gaze out to the hangar and watched the EMTs pull Trevin- or was it Bruce? - from the vibrating Conn-pod. He lowered his voice slightly, but continued on undaunted.

     “But it’s been just me for a while now. It’s been fine, I’m fine on my own. I’ve gotten the IDDC more results working solo then I ever did with the rag-tag intern group nipping at my heels. Maybe that’s why you’re confused, right? Because I’ll tell you that all the breakthroughs to come from this dome were mine and-”

     “ _Stop_ , Doctor Geiszler.”

Newt fell silent immediately, bouncing back on his heels and waiting. It was hard not to take any commands the man gave seriously; it was downright repulsive how much authority he oozed. Putting his hands behind his back, Pentecost observed the Gage twins another moment before giving a slow nod.

     “I had hoped that the Mid-Dome would have more to offer than this.”

By this, it was clear Pentecost didn’t mean just Newt but Topeka in its entirety. Newt wasn’t sure if he should feel offended or not. The teenage girl appeared at Pentecost’s elbow and he put a hand thoughtfully at her back.

     “Doctor Geiszler, you are officially under my jurisdiction now. I have been asked to take over as second in command of this Shatterdome under Marshall Kushner, and my duties now include overseeing the science department.”

Newt snorted; he couldn’t help it and coughed trying to hide it when the girl shot him a filthy look.

     “Er. Yes sir, Captain sir. I’m all yours…so can I like go or-”

The Captain kept talking, eyes front. He acted like he hadn’t even heard Newt speak.

     “This is Mako Mori. She will be part of the newly commissioned restoration team.”

Mako, gave a stiff, formal bow and Newt managed to dip his head in return.

He was itching to point out that she didn’t look like she was legally able to drink let alone work on Jaeger reconstruction, but considering he had taught at MIT in his twenties decided it was a bit hypocritical. His head was starting to hurt again and he just wanted the whole weird conversation-day-week to be over with.

     “Nice to meet you, Mako. I…”

     “You will be consulting with her on aspects of the restoration, and I trust you will be _sober_ enough to do it. Kushner has told me about your…reputation.”

Newt bit his lip and felt a wave of heat rise up his neck. He mumbled something at the ground, skin burning. He would own up to his problems to Tendo, but it was none of this guy’s business.

     “I am also bringing in another scientist”

Newt’s head snapped back up at that; anger won out over shame any day.

     “Not in _my_ lab, sir. I _do not_ share space.”

Pentecost stared him down voice calm and unflinching.

     “You did not let me finish, Doctor Geiszler. I do not want to displace you. I just wanted to let you know that there will be another senior K-science officer coming here from the Elko Dome, and I expect you to work with them. Just as I expect your complete cooperation with Miss Mori.”

Newt raised an eyebrow, gaze tracking blearily between Mako and the shiny badges on Captain Pentecost’s coat. Guy had a lot of them…, including a Purple Heart. He had clearly been injured in the line of duty at some point. Pentecost…the name was so fucking familiar.

     “So who is the scientist, s-”

A tech gofer ran over, clipboard in hand he whispered to Pentecost urgently. In the wriggling mass of LOCCENT, wildlife people were starting to head off in different directions; they would be running diagnostics on Romeo while the medics ran MRI’s on the Rangers. Newt wondered idly which was harder to replace: the Jaeger, or the Gage twins. Pentecost answered whatever question the tech was posing and gave Newt a final cool glare.

     “You are dismissed, Doctor Geiszler. I will be in for a lab inspection 06:00 tomorrow morning, so I suggest you be prepared.”

     “Six o’clock?! Why so freaking early?”

The teenager smirked and Newt shrank under Pentecost’s scowl, giving his finest sarcastic salute even as he struggled not to roll his eyes.

     “I mean…sir, yes sir.”

     “Good. Dismissed.”

Newt didn’t care how much Kushner hated running in the hall; the minute he slipped out of LOCCENT, he sprinted all way back to his lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluestar deserves all the kudos for being such a damn good editor. She fixes so many problems she should get a writing credit. And as usual I could not bring myself to post a chapter without Chal giving it the once over. Thank you so much guys.
> 
> The Kaiju's name in this chapter is an extremely nerdy joke. There is actually a very early Czech sci-fi novel called "War with the Newts" in which a race of super intelligent Newts rise out of the Pacific Ocean and try to co-exist with the human race. The god the Newt's worship is called Moloch and he is described as a giant salamander with a human head. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_with_the_Newts)


	3. Hecate

   It had been three days since Moloch appeared in Cleveland. Two days since Trevin Gage had been declared brain dead and his brother Bruce left without a partner. One day since they had started moving in the new scientist down the hall.

In those three short days, Newt had watched the Kaiju dream twenty-three times. By the twelfth go-through he suspected that he was becoming fanatically, dangerously obsessed. He couldn’t sleep without smelling ammonia; couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the alien sun behind his eyelids.

His discomfort with his own hands had mostly worn off but every once in awhile he would catch himself staring at them, his subconscious quietly shaking its head at the state of his gnawed fingernails. Ever since the bizarre Panel had come into his possession, Newt couldn’t stop thinking about it; he had a feeling there were more dreams like it. He wanted to find the Nemo who made it. No, not _wanted_. He _needed_ to find them.

           Newt leaned back his chair and stared despondently at a pile of freshly delivered samples waiting to be dissected and cataloged. There were stacks of coolers and large transparent tubes packed with throbbing blue chunks of Kaiju meat scattered about the lab. A car-sized container that held Moloch’s kidney filled most of the corner closest to the door. The organ’s pencil thick blood vessels expanded and contracted involuntarily, struggling to filter blood that just wasn’t there. Newt knew he should have been elbow deep in them by now; he should have felt his usual adrenaline rush of curiosity.

After all, this could be the _one_ \- the corpse that revealed some new shred of information, some secret that would tell him everything; Where the Kaiju came from…why they came here.

Newt gave a long, hollow sigh and turned an empty Mab vial over and over in his fingers, watching the light play off it in a kind of stupor. Just the simple process of getting up and sterilizing his dissection table sounded like a monumental chore. The mysteries of the Kaiju currently lacked all appeal. There was only one mystery he wanted to solve right now. Reaching into the pocket of his grubby jeans, Newt pulled out his smart phone and glared at it; no missed calls or messages.

For obvious reasons Hannibal Chau had never given Newt his primary phone number. He had, however, given him some random cell number to contact in case he wanted to do more recording sessions. It was an “emergency” number that probably belonged to one of his cronies. Newt had called the number sixteen times so far and was now leaving increasingly desperate messages every half hour or so. He lay his head down on the counter and hit send the number dialing automatically. No one picked up and after six rings a bland pre-recorded voice trickled through his phone speaker.

     “ _The party you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. If you would like to leave a message, please do so after the beep…_ -“

Newt waited for the sound of the beep and took a deep breath his words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

     “Er. Hi-hi again! Hi secret drug hotline or whatever this is. Hannibal, if you’re getting this, um…like I said before I really _REALLY_ need to talk to you. It’s about one of the Panels you gave me? I need some information and I…I’m willing to pay for it. Yeah, anyway...this is Newt Geiszler! You probably know that. I’m probably gonna call you again in like fifteen minutes. Um. Bye!”

Pushing away from his desk in a huff, Newt jammed his phone angrily into the pocket of his jeans. Rubbing repetitively at his arms he started to pace his lab from corner to corner. Why the hell wouldn’t Chau answer him? What was his problem? Was he doing crime boss paperwork? Burning down local orphanages? He could pull himself away from whatever nefarious shit he was doing for a little while. Newt had given him enough dream fodder to warrant ten freaking minutes of his time. Newt paused in front of the canned kidney and stroked the glass gently, pressing his forehead to the warm surface.

     “Okay..maybe I’ll start working and he’ll get back to me…twenty minutes and I’ll try him again. Right kidney? It’s just you and me against the world…”

He kneeled down to pick up the nearest cooler and read the label on it carefully.

     “What do you think kidney? Start with the cornea? Or should we see what makes your intestines tick?”

A sudden flurry of noise made Newt pause; he heard muffled angry shouting followed by a heavy bang outside his lab door. It sounded like something heavy being dropped to the ground. There was a metallic clang and more muted arguing. Newt put the cooler back down and raised a curious eyebrow, any thoughts of work immediately toppling out of his brain. Creeping warily down the little passageway that lead to his front door, Newt waited for the voices to go quiet before he reached to unlatch it.

Slowly he leaned out into the hall, scanning about for whatever had caused the noise. Several dome workers were walking fast in the opposite direction from him, but he caught a brief flash of their dirty dark blue jumpsuits before they disappeared around a distant corner. They were definitely in a hurry. As far as Newt could tell they looked like Hangar drones, local unskilled labor hired to help with odd jobs and heavy lifting around the Shatterdome. He had caught glimpses of them moving in his new neighbor, so it wasn’t really surprising to see them around. But still…why the sudden rush?

Normally Newt’s wing of the Topeka dome was completely isolated from everyday foot traffic. He avoided people and they avoided him, and everybody was happy. Well…that was before his cozy little corner was casually invaded by Stacker Goddamn _Pentecost_ , anyway. His first inspection had been an all-out disaster. Marshall Kushner had never set foot in his lab, but Captain Pentecost was a more hands on commander. Like, _literally_. He ran his hands over Newt’s samples and then had the gall to ask about his non-existent filing system. It was only by some act of a merciful god Pentecost hadn’t asked to see Newt’s living quarters. All the empty Mab vials and filth would probably have been taken the wrong way: the “gets a guy kicked out of the IDDC for multiple infractions” sort of way.

Newt took a step away from his door and calculated his next move. He felt the toe of his shoe thump against something and blinked down at the floor. There was a single box of electronic components sitting neglected in the middle of the empty hallway; that explained the heavy object being dropped sound. But why had they left it out here?

Newt chewed at his thumbnail and waited to see if the blue-suits would come back, but after a few minutes in the silent corridor it was apparent the box was going to stay where it was until his neighbor came for it themselves. Newt debated briefly with himself and then shrugged, reaching down to pick up the crate of odds and ends. He struggled under the weight and shifted it around in his arms to make walking easier. It wouldn’t hurt to be neighborly, and he couldn’t avoid the new K-scientist forever.

Newt was pretty sure the space next to his had been a storage unit just the week before. Because of the round spiral nature of the Shatterdomes hallways the outermost rooms were either not in use or forgotten storage units. The warehouse sized space Newt’s new neighbor had confiscated wasn’t quite as large as his own lab but had the same thick walls and high ceilings. The air inside the echoing room felt damp and reeked of mold and disuse.

     “Hello- _ooo_?”

There was no answer; the place was completely empty. Newt set the box down on a long bare worktable and craned his neck to look around a pile of unpacked crates.

     “Um…I found some of your stuff in the hall!”

The far corners of the improvised lab were shadowed. There were no windows and the overhead lights were either not working or not turned on. Newt could see the reflection of some glossy surface just beyond the reach of the few tiny lamps the scientist had left on various tables. There was something… _off_. Newt could just make out a scuffling sound he hoped was just a lab animal; it sounded like something large scraping rhythmically at smooth plastic, something too big to be a rabbit or a rat.

Newt narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what he was looking at. There was the barest bit of something…little pinpricks of blue light. Probably some equipment the new occupant had left on. He felt his body move forward without his brain being completely on board with the decision; the mystery was too much and Newt’s natural curiosity kicked all rational thought to the curb. He had to know what was back there.

He stumbled past a large dissection table and a devious looking selection of metal surgical instruments, deeper into the dark lab, past boxes of books and mountains of defunct electrical equipment. The scraping noises paused as he approached, negotiating a tight path through a stack of metal storage containers and a rickety shelf full of blood-red specimen bottles.

The smells of copper and ozone grew stronger as Newt neared the source of the reflective glint. He could see the very edge of a huge wall of smooth Plexi-glass half hidden by a grey plastic curtain. There were large holes cut high up in the wall and he puzzled over them. They looked suspiciously like… _air holes_. Newt worried his lower lip and wrung his hands, creeping closer to get a better look.

The room was full of oppressive silence. Newt felt his foot stick to something and glanced down to see a bright yellow line had been painted on the cold cement floor, so recently done the paint was still wet. He pulled his shoe away from it with an irritated grunt. The bottom of his boot would be yellow forever now; that was never going to come off.

     “What the…”

Newt stepped past the line, pulling the curtain back far enough so he could press a hand against the clear wall, so dark he couldn’t make out anything inside. What the hell was it even used for? He turned his attention momentarily back to the paint, reaching down to wipe uselessly at the bright yellow stain on the soft sole of his shoe.

     “Ugh, seriously? I only have like two pairs of these...”

A flicker of movement caught Newt’s eye. He looked up, startled, but found only his own ghostly reflection in the plastic’s smooth surface. The pale contours of his face and glasses stared back judgmentally. Newt rolled his eyes and gave a nervous giggle.

     “You are a dumbass, Newt Geis-”

He stopped cold as two balls of blue light blazed to life and something gave an ear-splitting screech, the noise so high and violent it made Newt’s vision go temporarily white. Charging from the shadows, the screeching something rammed against the plastic wall. It ran violently at Newt, throwing itself bodily at the barrier between them. He fell backwards, crab-walking away in a frantic mess of limbs and panic. The thing screamed again, its voice eerily human. It scratched the wall, enraged, struggling recklessly to get to Newt and tear him limb from limb.

It became very clear that the blue lights that Newt had thought to be lab equipment were the creature’s eyes. In its transparent kennel, the monster was staring at him, eyes glowing like neon headlights.

     “What is going _on_ in here!?”

The overhead lights clicked on and the room was bathed in harsh florescent light. Newt struggled to put more distance between himself and the cage, twisting to see what horrible abomination lay behind the curtain and letting out a sharp gasp.

A kid who didn’t look a day over sixteen stood in the box. The teenager curled his lip and snapped his teeth at Newt like a rabid dog. He scraped at the Plexi-glass, his skinny fingers tipped with plastic caps. Newt didn’t have to guess too hard at why; he was out of his mind. He would scratch until his fingernails fell off.

Newt felt the cold metal of a desk at his back and sat frozen on the ground, panting for breath. He heard the swish of cloth and the muted padding of footsteps coming towards him, but didn’t turn to look who was coming. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the monstrous half-human.

     “I _told_ you people to leave that part of the lab _be_! The test subjects are…Doctor Geiszler?”

The kid gave up on barreling into the wall and started to pace back and forth, glowing eyes never leaving Newt. He growled under his breath and Newt finally forced himself to look away, whirling to face the person reprimanding him.

She was tall, body slim and extremely willowy in build. Her expression was harried and partially hidden behind a swath of long, unwashed red hair. Newt recognized her immediately. Doctor Lightcap. _Crazy_ Caitlin Lightcap was here in Topeka, in his Shatterdome. She folded her arms stiffly and looked from Newt to the yowling “subject” still pacing like an agitated animal in his cell.

     “I was warned you would be here, but I didn’t realize how short a time it would take for you to come in here and rile up my research. “

Newt’s voice came out too high-pitched for his liking his words an adrenaline avalanche he could barely control.

     “You brought a fucking _HOWLER_ in here?”

“I did indeed. Several in fact, and I had just settled them down before you decided to snoop.”

     “S-several?”

Newt looked back and realized there were more plastic boxes beyond the first; more miniature habitats that each contained a snarling specimen. A middle aged balding man, a woman who could have been a grandmother, and a young woman in her twenties all watched him with those blank, glowing eyes.

Lightcap sighed heavily and bent down, offering Newt a hand. He ignored it and rolled away from her onto all fours, resting shakily on the edge of a table. In his panicked scuttle across the floor Newt had gone back over the painted warning line; he could see more yellow stains on the palms of his hands and feel the telltale wetness of paint smeared on the seat of his pants. _Great_. Still trembling, Newt wiped his hands on the front of his ruined jeans and took a deep calming breath. He spoke slowly, over-enunciating every syllable.

     “Why. The _FUCK_. Would you bring _Howlers_ here. I-“

Newt lost the ability to form coherent words shaking his head over and over again. Blood pounded in his ears and he only barely managed to resist the urge to run for the door. There had been many byproducts of the Kaiju invasion: the sleeplessness, the drug abuse, dream recording. All of that stuff….and the Howlers. They were as much a mystery as the Kaiju, and in some ways just as dangerous.

The victims could be perfectly healthy. Age, race, gender; none of it mattered. It struck normal people with beautifully average brains. A Howler could be doing the most mundane shit when the first symptoms set in - one minute typing up an office memo or brushing their teeth, the next losing their damn minds. Nemos who were affected reported having very vivid nightmares before the physical symptoms set in, but for most the first sign was a burning fever. If it didn’t kill them the fever boiled them away, leaving a Howler’s mind and personality utterly destroyed…replacing it with something decidedly more Kaiju in nature.

In as little as twenty-four hours a victim could go from healthy and sane to a rage-filled berserker, using nails and teeth on anyone who ventured close. The IDDC didn’t like to use the Z-word when it came to Howlers, but people used it anyway. Howlers and Hollywood’s living dead did share some vital similarities when it came to temperament, but there were some major differences between them. Whatever made a person a Howler was not contagious. It couldn’t be spread through spit or blood. Plus they were rather rare, unless a Kaiju was about to make an appearance.

Typically, there were reports of people becoming Howlers in isolated areas maybe once, twice a month. But if a big city was about to experience a Breach there could be as many as five or six. It was a great indicator and incredibly helpful if other data wasn’t giving adequate results. Newt didn’t like to think about Howlers; hell, nobody did. Even the word had a filthy ring to it. He had even heard rumors of fringe groups that _took care_ of the problem in major cities – mostly unasked and uninvited.

Lightcap snorted and looked Newt over disdainfully, her bulky plastic framed glasses perched at the end of her long bony nose. The sound jarred him out of his thoughts and he looked back at her in deep discomfort as she spoke again.

     “I brought them here because that is what my work is currently focused on. I need them for research purposes. I was invited by Captain Pentecost to bring my research here, and bring them I did.”

Newt gaped at her, pointing a shaking finger in accusation right in her face.

     “Your research could…could _KILL_ people!”

She scowled and marched over stiffly to pull the tarp over the teenage Howler’s cell. It reacted with another barrage of maddened noises, its teeth clicking as low rumbling growls vibrated inside its chest.

     “And _your_ field of study is no better in that department?”

Lightcap walked to each of the cages in turn, making sure each was covered with their respective curtains.

     “For God’s sake, Geiszler. If you and I are going to be neighbors we should at least _attempt_ to be civil to one another.”

Newt folded his arms, rocking back and forth slightly. His thoughts were racing and he found himself suspended in the immobile helplessness that always reared its ugly head when he was upset.

     “Yeah...yeah. Touché. We both study scary shit. But you don’t see me bringing living, breathing Kaiju into _my_ lab.”

Lightcap ambled back to stand in front of him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall where the young Howler’s growls were gradually becoming anguished moans. She didn’t react, apparently utterly unafraid of the slavering monster at her back.

     “You would if given the chance. Unless your attitude towards them has suddenly changed since I last saw you, Newton.”

Her eyes trailed down from his face to the tattoos on his arms and she offered a sharp, unsympathetic smile. Newt bit his tongue to stop the tidal wave of cuss words he wanted to chuck her direction. They had never been on good terms in Eureka…Or Elko. Or really _anywhere_ they had worked together.

Newt had joined the IDDC scientific outreach program in the very early days, but Lightcap was one of its founders. Her thing was brains. Brain chemistry, wiring, the works. She knew more about the human brain then most people would ever know about anything. Newt was pretty sure she was in love with them. The only thing she was _capable_ of loving.

     “In fact, I would venture to guess the only thing that keeps you from bringing in a live one is the fact the Rangers keep killing them. Such a shame.”      

Fuck. Newt had no comeback for that whatsoever..

     “ _What?_ No! You…you can just…you can just take your…uh...”

He scrambled to find a good barb but his head was empty; there was just a dull ache and the usual bone-deep desire to get as high as humanly possible Lightcap preened, adjusting her glasses and brushing off the lapels of her jacket.

     “Still as articulate as ever, I see. And the rumors about you falling into the vial appear to be completely accurate. You are a shaky mess. It’s a wonder they still keep you on payroll.”

     “Yeah? Well, I’ll be sure to tell _Sergio_ you said hi next time I see him.”

She stiffened and Newt finally felt a small swell of satisfaction. D’Onofrio and Lightcap had had a _thing_ – well, _thing_ was an understatement. D’Onofrio had helped Lightcap develop not only the Pons tech that could record dreams and create Specters, he had been her drift partner. They had actually piloted one of the first proto-jaegers together.

A couple of years into the war Sergio had been hurt in some accident that Newt didn’t know the details of; all he knew was that Lightcap and D’Onofrio had split on very bad terms and he left her and the IDDC. She was still pretty bitter about it.

There was something about the Mab, too. Lightcap and D’Onofrio had some mutual thing with the Mab…fuck if Newt could remember all of it. It was common knowledge that Sergio had become a dealer but taboo to talk about it.

Lightcap’s face turned an deep ugly red that almost matched the color of her hair.

     “Well. I hope he is very happy. I hope he is enjoying his filthy lifestyle.”

She gave a brusque nod and brushed past him, expression stiff and unreadable.

     “I want to have a cordial working relationship with you, Doctor Geiszler. But your selfish and juvenile tendencies make it extremely difficult at times.”

     “Yeah? So says the Ice Queen of Elko! You aren’t easy to work with either you-“

Newt’s phone vibrated against his hip, his Styx ringtone muffled by the thick denim. He blinked at it, confused for a second before he pulled it out to see who was calling. The ringing drew out a fresh chorus of noise from the Howlers but Newt didn’t even notice; too engrossed the number flashing on the screen and realizing immediately it was the number Hannibal had given him. The very number he had been dialing nonstop the last day and a half.

     “Oh shit!”

Newt turned and sprinted for the door, nearly tripping over several boxes strewn across the concrete floor.

     “I gotta take this! Important! Er…”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder at Lightcap and unsure how to end the confrontation. As shitty as it was, they were going to have to at least try to get along. They might have to actually work together. He managed to force a smile buoyed up by the fact Hannibal was calling him back.

     “I’ll…er. I’ll see you later, Doctor Lightcap.”

Lightcap lifted a hand in a halfhearted wave, an eyebrow raised and thin lips pursed in a humorless grimace. At her back the Howlers shifted restless and impatient.

     “Yes. Good _day_ , Doctor Geiszler.”

 

   Newt stared at the slip of dirty paper in his hand and back up at the dark building towering over him. Its windows glowed bright gold in a dark sky filled with softly swirling snow; the parking lot was dark, and there were few scattered cars. Newt scooted closer to a streetlight and thanked his lucky stars that there wasn’t a blackout tonight. Despite being one of the wealthiest cities left in the continental United States, Topeka would still have nights where the electricity switched off. Running a Shatterdome put a lot of pressure on the electrical grid and it was the best way to avoid a blowout that could mean weeks without power.

That being said, Newt wasn’t sure if the issues and risks applied to the place he was currently standing in front of. He hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t… _this_.

     “Doctor?”

Newt jumped and nearly tipped backwards, falling all over himself to get away from the person addressing him. There was a heavy sigh and a beautiful Chinese woman emerged from the shadows; Hannibal’s right hand crony Liang Fang stepped into the circle of yellow lamplight. She looked at him tiredly and shifted her heavy winter coat up around her long neck. Newt shook his head and laughed nervously, edging close to her.

     “Liang! Jesus, you scared me! This feels like some weird Deep Throat scenario you know? All we need are fedoras and trenchco-”

     “Shut up, Newt. For the love of God, let’s keep this brief.”

Newt felt a nervous tingle in his stomach and watched her expectantly, struggling to restrain his questions. Liang was the one who had called him back and arranged the meeting. She had been surprised at his request, but not overly so.

Even with this unexpected show of helpfulness, Liang made him uneasy. She had more street smarts than an alley cat and, despite his wall of doctorates and academic awards, she somehow always managed to make him feel stupid.

     “So why are we here? Is he, um...does he work here?“

He pointed at the building at his back and Liang only offered a noncommittal shrug. She was stunning even in the bad light. When she and Newt had first met, her head had been completely shaved but now she was sporting some kind of faux-hawk that lay flat on one side of her scalp. She had a sharp face and sharper eyes; beautiful like a bird of prey-and one that wasn’t afraid to use her talons.

     “No. He doesn’t work there.”

     “Oh. Um.”

     “Hannibal is a businessman, and as such he gets his Panels in a lot of places that one wouldn’t normally think. Some of those places are…unsavory.”

Newt pulled at the edges of his knit cap and danced in a small circle to keep the feeling in his feet. His socks had gotten wet on the slog over and he could feel his toes starting to go numb.

     “Oh. Yeah, well. That goes without saying but what about-“

     “Here is the deal we agreed on over the phone.”

Liang pulled a crisp piece of paper from her black leather purse, examining it before handing it and a pen to Newt.

     “I tell you exactly how to find the Nemo who recorded that dream. You give Hannibal two sessions a week for the next three months, as well as any dreams you have out of the studio. Sign this.”

He inspected the paper she had handed him and saw the line he was supposed to sign highlighted in blue.

     “Didn’t I already sign an exclusive contract with Hannibal when I started out? Why does he want another one? And…how can he own dreams that he doesn’t record? I mean…”

     “It’s a separate agreement from your original contract thus a new and separate document. He doesn’t like to make verbal deals. As to your second question…well. You’ll find out about that after you sign. I promise it will make sense eventually.”

     “But…”

“Do you want to see this dreamer you’re so smitten with or not? We’re breaking every rule of confidentiality doing this in the first place. Don’t push your luck, Geiszler.”

Newt nodded, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He bit at the finger of his right hand glove and pulled it off holding it between his teeth as he signed the paper, his handwriting a nearly unreadable scrawl. Handing the contract back, he quickly yanked the spit-wetted glove back on, his reply surly and embarrassed.

     “I’m not _smitten_. I just want to know-”

Liang rolled her eyes and folded the paper, tucking it delicately into her coat pocket.

     “Newton I could honestly care less what you want with this person once you find them. Just listen to me _very_ carefully. I’m only giving these instructions once. “

She pointed to the building at the end of the parking lot, her long curved fingernail looking very much like a claw.

     “You will go in through the side emergency entrance. You will walk _quietly_ down the hall to the elevator and speak to no one. Do _NOT_ bring any attention to yourself. Take the elevator to the fifth floor and head _directly_ to the red help desk. When you get there, ask for Sköll.”

Newt opened his mouth and Liang held up a warning finger, eyes wide. He didn’t speak, taking a deep breath and biting his tongue instead.

     “Once you meet with Sköll, tell them that you need passage to Helheim to see the mathematician, and then… give them this.”

Blowing a puff of steam from her nose and mouth Liang put a metal box firmly in Newt’s hand. It was identical to the metal cases used to distribute Mab or Sunset. It wasn’t hard to guess what the contents were.

     “Make sure this ends up in Sköll’s hands _only_. Don’t fuck it up.”

     “Wait back up like three steps…mathematician? Is that them? The dreamer? Why…why would I need to go through all this crap just to-“

Liang shook her head again and reached out to place the sharp edge of her fake fingernail on Newt’s lips.

     “ _No_. No questions. You have your instructions. Just do what I told you. Do you want to see this Nemo or not?”

She drew back her hand and Newt tucked the drugs deep into his messenger bag. He wondered if Sköll was a Nemo, or if they were for someone else. He wondered too why Hannibal needed to pay them in the first place. His mind buzzed with questions as he shook with barely contained excitement.

     “Thanks, Liang! I seriously owe you one.”

Liang stared at him and finally reached her hand back up to touch his cheek, her fingertips running with surprising gentleness over the his stubbly skin.

     “You are going to be disappointed. You won’t be thanking me after you get in there, Geiszler. I don’t know what you saw on that Panel…but you aren’t going to get any answers.”

There was something in her voice that was hard to identify. Guilt, maybe? Newt tilted his head to the side quizzically. Liang feeling guilty seemed theoretically impossible; she put on such a wonderful show of not feeling anything. Liang pulled away and turned, walking back out into the snowy gloom.

     “See you Monday, Doctor Geiszler.”

He wanted to run after her and grab her arm. He wanted to make her explain herself, suddenly fearful that he had been cheated...that the whole deal had been a terrible fucking mistake. He held back, shuffling towards the building. He passed a sign at the edge of the parking lot and stopped to stare at it, his list of questions growing longer by the second. The sign read - _All Day Parking - St. Francis Hospital and Medical Center_.

 

   No one paid Newt much attention in the emergency waiting room. There were so many people crowding the tiny overheated space it was easy to slip past it and into the central hallway that lead to an elevator. Newt guessed that was the point; medical staff probably accosted anyone going through the front door, asking what they were up too. As usual, Liang knew exactly what she was doing. Newt made it to the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. Snow melted off his shoulders, dripping to the ground in thick drops. He sniffled, trying to bring cold snot back up into his sinuses.

Newt didn’t like hospitals. During the first three months of the war he had been in a ton of them, interviewing broken survivors and watching the first of the Howlers being brought in for treatment. They had actually tried to fix them in the beginning, back when their insane behavior was diagnosed as PTSD or schizophrenia and treated with medication or shock therapy. They learned _very quickly_ these things didn’t work.

The elevator stopped with a quiet ding and the doors slid noiselessly open to reveal a floor drastically different from the one he had left. There was no noise; no gurneys being rushed back and forth, no triage nurses or sneezing patients. It was painfully, terribly quiet.

At the red help desk in the dimly lit hallway Newt could make out the top of a head full of dark hair. He kept his eyes to the shiny tiled floor, heart pounding. His footsteps were so loud on the polished linoleum he could hardly stand it. It felt like he was walking into a sacred sanctuary. Each wet squeak of his boots echoing in the hallway seemed to scream his intruding presence.

He reached the desk at the end of the checker-patterned hall and cleared his throat with a major effort. Liang’s sudden reluctance at the end of their meeting had put such a bad taste in Newt’s mouth he wasn’t sure what to expect.

     “Um…excuse me? I’m. I’m looking for someone called Skull- no, no I mean…Sköll? Yeah, uh…that one?”

The person - he couldn’t get a great look at them where they sat behind a wooden divider full of patient files- stood and shuffled towards the front of the help desk. It was a woman…and she was enormous. Broad shouldered and heavily muscled; she had to be at least six foot three. Newt blinked up at her, staring into her wide face and dark eyes. She looked like she was in her early thirties and it was difficult to tell exactly what nationality she was. Hispanic? Native American? Big. She was just _big_.

     “Who is asking?”

The voice that came out of the giant was not what Newt expected. It was low and husky, but still feminine and slightly musical. He drew away from the counter, wringing his hands and trying not to look intimidated.

     “Oh! I’m Newt…Newton Geiszler. I’m supposed to say something about…Hell…Hell-ham? God I am so bad at this gangster code. Liang said to find somebody with a weird name and tell them I’m here to see the mathematician.”

The woman stretched and threw a book of crossword puzzles onto the desk, eyeing him up and down as she did. She was wearing nurse’s scrubs decorated with cartoonish puppies and kittens. Newt couldn’t help but wonder where the hell she had found any her size. Tugging contemplatively at her ponytail, the woman nodded and held out her hand.

     “Hand it over first.”

Newt tilted his head to the side perplexed.

     “It? Oh...OH! _You’re_ Sköll! I got ya!”

Sköll nodded and gestured expectantly.

     “Pay the toll and I’ll open the gate.”

Alright, she wasn’t much for conversation; that was clear. Newt rooted around in his bag until he found the small metal box. He lifted it out cautiously and attempted to appear as nonchalant as possible when he pressed it into her palm.

She gave a cursory glance down the hall in either direction and opened the box, making no effort to hide its contents from Newt.

There was Mab inside; fifteen vials or so from what he could see, but she ignored them, going straight for the wad of cash tucked against the box’s lid. Counting it quickly Sköll sighed heavily and jammed it messily into a desk drawer. She closed the box with a satisfied snap.

     “Come on, then.”

Newt felt his heart leap into his throat, all the blood rushing to his brain in a swirling torrent.

     “Great! So is he…I mean I’m pretty sure it’s a _he_. Is he a patient here? Is he going to be discharged soon? Do you record the dreams here with lots of patients? Did he do it before? Did he just start…”

Newt stopped himself when she gave him an appraising glance. The look putting an immediately halt to the jumble of words tumbling out of his mouth. It was the same sort of despondent look Liang had given him when she warned him he wasn’t going to find the answers he was looking for. Newt fidgeted.

     “Gotcha, no more questions. I’m sorry. Lead on. Tally-ho.”

Sköll tucked the little metal box into a pocket of her scrubs and reached under the counter, pulling out a large, heavy bag that looked like it was made to hold camera equipment. Tucking it safely under one arm she ambled around the desk, adjusting a paper sign on the wall of her station so it read “ _back in five minutes_.” She didn’t speak, just grabbed a clipboard from one of the wooden divider cubbies with her free hand and started down a dimly-lit side hall.

Newt took it as a cue to follow and trotted after taking three steps for every one of the woman’s gigantic strides. The overhead fluorescents flickered uneasily and somewhere in the distance there was a sound like dripping water; probably nothing more sinister than a leaky sink. Newt sped up his pace, excitement sizzling through his entire body. The hallway of identical grey doors went on and on and the stillness behind them was unsettling.

Sköll looked at her clipboard and stopped in front of one of the painted metal doors; a placard on the white brick wall proclaimed it to be room 5-19. Looking back at Newt once more she reached out for the handle, opened the door with a soft creak of the hinges. Newt followed her in grinning like an idiot, but the moment he took in the room and its contents the smile faded and his stomach dropped several stories.

The space was very small. It held two beds but only one was occupied. There was a man in the bed and it was clear after only a moment’s scrutiny that he wasn’t sleeping…he was comatose.

Sköll hovered over him scanning the myriad machines at the head of his bed, writing the data they yielded on her clipboard. She checked his IVs, his breathing tube and his brain activity several times before speaking to him like he could hear every word.

     “Good evening, Doctor Gottlieb.”

Newt opened his mouth and shut it again like a fish gasping for breath, trying to figure out precisely what he wanted to say. This explained _everything_. Liang’s cryptic words, the fact Hannibal had been willing to turn the info over so easily. They didn’t _need_ to ask for this Nemos permission, they could take as many dreams as they wanted without even paying the guy or asking for any sort of consent. It was the most despicable and underhanded thing Newt could conceive of. He finally managed to squeak out a question, face turning red with utter frustration.

     “Why would…”

Sköll turned to look at him and it almost looked like her head was brushing the ceiling. She regarded Newt curiously, as if just remembering that he was there.

     “It’s called milking, Doctor Geiszler. Hannibal didn’t invent the practice but he did provide the equipment. It doesn’t hurt them at all.”

     “That is…that is the _least_ of my questions.”

The woman grinned at him and there was something unnervingly feral in the way she bared her teeth. Sköll drew up one of several chairs scattered around the small room and sat down near the bed. Everything smelled heavily of antiseptic with hints of lemon floor polish and clean sheets, though Newt thought he could smell the overhanging coppery tang of blood. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not.

Newt edged closer to the bed and the minute his eyes caught on the coma patient’s hands he knew he had found his Nemo. He was very thin; rail thin, skeleton thin. His skin was pale, knobbed with prominent bones at the wrists and knuckles. His hands were just as striking in person as they had been on that strange black beach. It was all there, the long graceful fingers, the slight calluses, the visible lines of veins and tendons.

Newt’s gaze traveled up the thin arms and narrow chest and his breath caught as he stared into the dreamer’s face. It was surreal to be looking at him from the outside. He was so used to being _behind_ his eyes…not _in front_ of them. It was difficult to get a complete picture of him through the nest of tubes and wires but…but Newt could see long dark eyelashes, sharp cheekbones and slightly sweaty hair that looked in dire need of a trim.

     “Doctor Gottlieb? You said his name was Gottlieb, right? What-what’s…his first name?”

He had been so focused on the man in the bed Newt didn’t even realize that Sköll had been prepping a needle. She had flipped open the metal box and was examining a pink vial of Mab in the light of the room’s only lamp.

     “Hermann. Hermann Gottlieb.”

That name rang of something familiar. Newt felt the same floaty “ _I know that name_ ” feeling that he had experienced when first meeting Stacker Pentecost. He had been so preoccupied he hadn’t bothered to look up any information on the Captain, but now he felt that maybe the two were connected somehow. They were both linked to the IDDC in some important way, his brain just couldn’t grasp right now.

     “Who is he? How long has he been like this?”

Sköll stuck the needle into the Mab vial, avoiding the tiny needle built into the cap as she drew a carefully measured amount into her own syringe. She seemed to have much more to say when she was talking about a patient.

     “His sister said he was a mathematician…that’s all I know for sure. He’s been here about a year.”

Newt gazed around the blank cheerless room. The only decoration was a despondent and saggy stuffed bear sitting on a table. It had once held a bouquet of balloons in its little paws, but the helium had long leaked out of them and the last deflated bits of rubber lay over the dusty stuffed animal in a depressing reminder of just how long it had sat there. Sköll’s growling voice turned sweet as she smoothed her patient’s hair from his forehead.

     “It’s good to have someone come visit. Isn’t it, Doctor Gottlieb?”

There was no response and Sköll clearly wasn’t expecting any. She picked up Gottlieb’s IV line and sank the needle of the faintly glowing syringe into the feed.

     “How did he-…what are you doing?”

The line filled with the pink liquid and Newt watched wide-eyed as it leaked into the fluid drip. It didn’t take long before the soft beep that kept careful track of the good doctor’s heartbeat started to speed up. The Mab swirled into his blood and soaked his brain. Gottlieb’s eyelids twitched as the drug stimulated something akin to REM sleep.

     “I am making a recording...You like his dreams? This one's all yours.”

Sköll reached into the black bag she had brought from the desk and pulled out a heavy stainless steel Pons cap, examining its polished blue surface at length before looking at Newt again.

     “This is my older rig. You can take it with you to record yourself at home. Fang told me to show you how to record…but it’s not hard. I mean- Its safe to assume you already know how to use a basic rig…”

Newt spluttered.

     “What?! Record? Why the hell would I do that?”

Sköll didn’t answer him, distracted by the task at hand. She placed the squid cap gently on Gottlieb’s head, resting the front-most flap carefully between his eyes. Newt was about to protest again but it died on his lips. Recording. The second part of Hannibal’s contract…Liang had been right. It made sense now. They were going to get _all_ his dreams. Hannibal was getting three months of Newt’s dreams and what did he have to show for it? A comatose _stick figure_.

     “Oh…those sneaky bastards.”

Sköll gave a low rumbling chuckle.

     “Took you long enough to figure it out. Sorry you got screwed shorty.”

Newt caught himself looking at the man at the bed again and felt his irritation melt into sympathy. He grabbed another chair from the wall and sat on the opposite side of the bed from Sköll. The more he looked at Gottlieb the better he felt. Warmth spread up from his stomach and the constant nagging pain in his head eased; or maybe he just wasn’t paying it as much attention.

He pulled off his gloves and hesitated before he reached out to touch one of the doctor’s pale hands. The slim fingers twitched involuntarily and Newt jerked back, a blush seeping up the back of his neck. He laughed and gazed curiously into the wan serious face. Fuck it. Newt didn’t care if the guy was in a coma. He had found him and that was what mattered.

     “You know what? I don’t think I got screwed at all.”

He beamed at Sköll’s surprised expression and shrugged.

     “Recording can’t be that hard, right? Should I be taking notes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to proof-reader Bluestar and beta Chal!
> 
> Hecate refers to a single goddess of the crossroads who is often represented as three women in art. Newt has his three in one Hecate and their crossroads here.


	4. The Man of My Dreams

Newt left the hospital at one in the morning with the bag of recording equipment and a new sense of focus. He had something beyond dreams and Kaiju that mattered, somebody outside of the Shatterdome and his own narrow world that needed him - even if they weren’t even aware of his existence. It was true that Newt still had his dad, but he had become a distant idea; a nice bit of nostalgia that sometimes sent the odd letter. Aside from his father Newt had no family. His uncle had died in a home robbery a few months after the first Kaiju attack. His mom…well. She had never really been around long enough to be considered absent in the first place. You had to actually enlist to go AWOL.

Even if his job was to help rescue the good people of planet Earth, Newt didn’t really feel like he had anything in common with them. Being a hero to the masses was great but the big draw of Kaiju was the thrill, the mystery. Aside from Tendo, there was nobody Newt really felt any obligation to. But Doctor Gottlieb was different...anybody who dreamed about Kaiju like he did had to understand how Newt felt. Here was somebody he could maybe really talk to, if the guy ever was able to actually talk. Newt shook his head and shuddered inwardly. He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted from Gottlieb beyond the guy’s dreams. For now he just felt like he needed to help him somehow. Newt had never met anyone more alone than himself, and _that_ was saying something.

The trip back to the Shatterdome was expensive. The streets of Topeka were normally overflowing with taxi-cabs, but Newt had probably hailed one of the last ones still taking passengers. Most of the city shut down at ten o’clock on the dot in accordance with a police-enforced curfew. It was supposed to save electricity and “cut back on crime” or something. Either way, it was not a good idea to be outside after curfew started.

The drive from the hospital to the Dome was a stressful fifteen minutes of wondering if the cabbie was going to rob him or not; the last thing Newt needed was to lose the newly acquired bag of recording equipment Sköll had given him. The giantess had also slipped him two vials of Mab, and Newt didn’t stop her. He had his own small stock at home but that wouldn’t last long, and he didn’t feel like going back to Sergio if he could possibly put it off.

Newt felt his heart flutter arrhythmically against his ribcage and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath through his nose to calm down. He realized with an unpleasant stab of surprise that he had not eaten in over a day and he wasn’t doing great on sleep either. At this rate, he was heading for a coma himself.

The inside of the car was too hot, the blazing heater burning Newt’s legs and feet. The driver didn’t speak but his music was loud over the cab speakers. It sounded like some kind of Chinese Synth-pop. Not Newt’s favorite, but it was gaining traction in the states lately; probably because of the waves of displaced Chinese immigrants coming to the US from places like Shanghai and the devastated ruins of Hong Kong. The United States produced more Sunset than most countries and the very tired, sort-of huddled masses came flocking just to get a taste, most of them desperate to help insomnia-stricken loved ones.  

Newt sank deeper into the cab’s grimy pleather seat and stared out the window, watching the Kansas capital roll slowly past. The streets became filthier and much narrower the closer they got to the Shatterdome. The taxi swerved, pulling up onto a hastily built overpass that soared high above the dirtier tenement neighborhoods. They had been built as quickly as possible to house the influx of refugees and immigrants.

All these people had thought moving to a big city would mean safety, dependable electricity and more food to go around. Boy, had they been barking up the wrong tree. All the cities with domes ended up like this, massive humanity dumps where everyone who wasn’t IDDC struggled to collect enough ration coupons just to make it through the month. Newt pressed his fingertips against the cold glass, squinting to catch a glimpse of Topeka’s infamous “Sunset Sign.”

The IDDC had worked in conjunction with numerous world governments to distribute Sunset to people in need. Many different pharmaceutical companies created it but none were actually allowed to sell it. Sunset was supposed to be free. At the very beginning of the sleep crisis, the Sunset Sign was erected by the UN and IDDC to promote the new drug distribution program. It had quickly become a joke.

The sign showed a massive sun created with tubes of neon. Shorter tubes surrounding the circular center flashed on and off in quick succession to give the illusion that the sun was shining. It sank into neon blue tubes shaped like water, which wavered using the same on again off again effect as the sunbeams. Under the enormous animated light fixture were neon words that read, “ _Sleep is a right. Not a privilege. Sunset for all_.”

The sentiment was lovely and all…but almost immediately there wasn’t enough “ _Sunset for all_ ”. They had drastically underestimated the number of sick people at the beginning and the rationing had not been well accepted. How could you ration sleep? The very concept was insane. Out of the subsequent chaos, a rampant underground drug trade had flourished. People with the money would buy Sunset in bulk and hoard it, some of them sitting on stockpiles they didn’t even need. Hoarding could get you with jail time if you were caught but fear of dying sleepless beat fear of the fuzz any day. Sunset for all? Yeah, fat fucking chance.

Newt tracked the glowing sign lazily as the cab puttered down the empty highway. It sat like a fat mother bird over smaller, less important advertisements for things like name-brand shoes and greasy fast food; with the economy in tatters even these little things were considered luxuries. Big ration point items.

 _I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto_. Newt thought bitterly. _Oh…wait never mind. We still are. It’s just the worst possible Kansas._

Did Hermann…Christ, he was already calling him by his first name? Did _Doctor Gottlieb_ remember the war? Did he dream about it? Did he hear anything? Feel anything? How did he end up alone in that hospital room with the Colossus of Rhodes recording his brainwaves without his permission? Newt ran jittery fingers through his hair, making a low frustrated whine deep in his throat. The cab driver eyed him curiously, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Newt was perfectly aware he probably looked like a junkie. He curled up tighter in his damp jacket, glad that the Dome was in sight and he was almost home. The fluttery pulse and lightheadedness could have just been hunger, but the more likely culprit was withdrawal; he hadn’t had any Mab since the night before. Or, worst possible scenario, they were the first symptoms of an impending panic attack.

The driver let him out at a general admittance point and Newt tipped him way more than he deserved. It was a mistake. Hannibal probably wasn’t going to pay him much for the next three months of sessions unless he felt uncharacteristically generous. Food and board was covered by the IDDC but any Mab Newt wanted to do at home was paid for out of pocket. He had a bit of savings, but it would go fast. And he could see a lot of cab rides in his future.

Newt plodded along the edge of the dome until he found a well-concealed staircase that lead to an access elevator. He swiped his ID card at the door and stepped into the elevator without bothering to change his shoes. He didn’t like to use this entrance very much but he really, _really_ couldn’t risk being caught out after the general curfew…, and with an insanely pricey home recorder rig to boot. That would probably raise a few tough questions and high-ranking eyebrows.

Portable recorders were frowned upon but weren’t _technically_ illegal. The quality they recorded was inferior to in-studio dreams; it was like comparing a home movie to a Hollywood production, but someone using a basic sleeper rig probably wouldn’t notice the difference. Newt had to admit that they could be dangerous, but then so could a toaster if you used it in a bathtub. If you didn’t know how to use a recorder correctly there was a slight chance you could scramble your brain. The more likely outcome was the grand-daddy of all migraines, but the brain scrambling risk was definitely there. Newt wasn’t worried; if Brunhilde the Super Nurse could do it a genius with a couple doctorates could handle it.

The access elevator emptied out into an unoccupied side of the Shatterdome that held the majority of its massive power grid. The metal walls hummed and the industrial smell of raw electricity was overpowering. Newt passed an interior power station and slipped undetected through the large bay where Electrical sometimes fixed broken Jaeger machinery. From there, it was just one floor down and three dusty hallways over to home. Newt only used this shortcut to the lab when he really needed to. It could be dangerous, but on the upside he didn’t have to change his shoes. By the time he trudged into the K-Sci wing he was dead on his feet and the rig bag felt like it weighed nine hundred pounds. Lightcap’s door was shut and if her Howlers were making noise in there, not a peep of it was escaping through the soundproof steel.

_Thank you God for the little favors._

Newt unlocked his lab door and stopped when he heard a clatter of broken glass. His muscles tightened and every instinct in his brain hissed _run, dumbass_!

Newt glanced down the entry hall, curiosity eating at him; he could at least take a quick look before making a gutless retreat. Dropping his bags, Newt reached into his pocket to clutch at his cell phone. He took a step forward and tried to remember what the number for Shatterdome security was. It was not quick in coming. The headache that had been kept at bay by his proximity to Hermann - _there he went again_ –Doctor _Gottlieb_ was quickly resurfacing. The throbbing mass of withdrawal and low blood sugar reared its ugly head deep at the base of his skull, making its displeasure known.

The lights were on in his lab and Newt heard someone muttering, a low sloppy voice speaking to itself. The door to the lab itself was open a crack and Newt pressed against it slowly so the hinges wouldn’t creak and give him away. Peering around, it took Newt a few moments to process what he was seeing.

Kaiju blood was spreading steadily across the uneven concrete floor. It oozed from an open sample cooler and as Newt watched a second cooler spun through the air and hit the ground close to the first. The plastic lid popped open, pushed askew by the impact, and more Blue trickled out to join the already significant puddle in progress. There was somebody in the lab, and they were _fucking_ with his _stuff_. Newt reacted without thinking. He took a quick step into the room and screamed at the shadowy figure near his pile of Moloch samples.

     “Hey! HEY YOU! What the fuck are you _DOING_?!”

The intruder startled and turned towards him unsteadily. They were partially hidden by the massive sample tube holding Moloch’s kidney, but when they wobbled out from behind it Newt gaped in disbelief. He recognized who it was, of course. Who wouldn’t? His picture was on everything from trading cards to tea towels. Bruce Gage leaned his weight forward, swaying back and forth like a tree in a windstorm.

     “Ranger Gage? Dude, what are you…are you _drunk_?”

Bruce held a length of bent pipe in one hand and a comically large bottle of vodka in the other. He blinked at Newt with teary, bloodshot eyes and looked like a guilty kid who had been caught in the middle of doing something unspeakably naughty. He paused, glancing down at the bottle of vodka then back at Newt.

     “I…no.”

Newt eyed the open coolers dribbling blue liquid across the ground and licked his lips nervously.

     “Hey...err, Ranger Ga-“

     “Jus’ Bruce. Jus’… call me Bruce, okay? No more Ranger…not a fuckin’… _RANGER_ anymore anyway…”

Bruce turned away from Newt and set the glass vodka bottle down on a nearby counter. He tottered back around, using the pipe to poke at a piece of Kaiju viscera on the floor near his boots. Newt watched him in shock. There were no instructions in the IDDC handbook about how to handle intoxicated Rangers, that was for damn sure.

     “Yeah, Ran…err. _Bruce_. You didn’t get any of that stuff on you, did you? Because those samples weren’t-“

Gage smashed the pipe down, clubbing another cooler and sending it scuttling into a wall of refrigeration units. There was an almost satisfying _smack_ as the little cooler burst open and a hefty chunk of wet Kaiju meat slapped against the slick metal surface.

Newt stared at it wide-eyed and shook his head. He was going to have to disinfect the entire lab - no…he was going to have to hose down the entire WING at this rate.

     “Bruce. Dude. Please. Those samples have LIVE Blue in them, man. That stuff’s pure poison! I haven’t had a chance to detoxify any of it yet!”

Newt was hesitant to get any closer. There were specks of acid blood eating at the wood of his writing desk and probably sinking through Bruce Gage’s jacket to his skin. Blue poisoning was not a good death. Not a good death at all. Topically on the skin it could cause painful burns, but on the inside it could work its way into the bloodstream and…, well. Newt had seen a man liquefied once. At stage four Blue exposure you started to bleed out the eyes, among other nastier symptoms. The last thing Newt needed right now was to be blamed for the death of a war hero. Bruce picked up the vodka bottle again taking a long swig before he held it politely towards Newt.

     “Wan’ some? It’s not-“

     “Are you even _listening_ to me? I said that stuff is…”

Bruce swung the pipe downward and it made a cracking noise as it hit the solid cement. Newt jumped back, eyes huge. Bruce Gage was one solid muscle; the Jaeger program required all recruits to be in peak physical condition even if they fought with just grey matter. Not all the Rangers built up quite as much mass as the Gage twins, however. They had been fighter pilots pre-war, and before that Newt had heard rumors they were raised on a cattle ranch. They had gone from punching cows to punching Kaiju. _Yeehaw_.

Bruce looked at the pipe and staggered in a slow circle to face the huge tube packed with Moloch’s kidney. He let out a mournful sound like gas deflating from a depressed balloon and delicately tapped the yellow tinted glass.

     “He’s gone…he’s gone and it’s my fault.”

Newt sank his teeth deep into his lower lip and edged towards Bruce. The air was full of painful tension; he could see fully how this scenario was going to play out, with a tidal wave of preservation fluid and kidney all over his lab when the distraught Ranger piñata-ed his biggest sample. Anxiety seized Newt’s lungs and his mouth went desert-dry. He reached into his pocket, fingers playing over his phone and wondering if he might be able to dial Tendo without looking at it. He had still had no idea what the number for security was off the top of his head, but he really didn’t want them in here anyway. Not when he was holding a dream recorder and had Mab stashed in his room and on his person.

     “Yeah...I heard about Trevin. I’m sorry about…”

Bruce took a last swig from the vodka bottle and chucked it hard to the floor. There was a crash and shards of broken glass skittered to join the corrosive blue puddles and Kaiju bits. Bruce teetered dangerously as his soft sobs turned into great ugly gulping ones.

     “You…you don’t GET it, man! I…I should’ve moved, I should have...now the program is…”

The Ranger trailed off, leaning heavily on his pipe. Newt noticed with growing horror that part of the man’s pant leg was slowly dissolving as the skin underneath turned an irritated red. There was no time to call Tendo. He had to get Gage in the chemical shower. He had to get him in like _yesterday_.

Throwing caution to the ammonia-scented wind, Newt took slow even steps towards Bruce and put what he hoped was a consoling hand on his arm. He spoke in a level voice and subtly started to spin the Ranger towards the wall mounted shower nozzle at the other end of the lab.

     “Dude…hey, now…”

Newt wrapped his fingers around the crooked pipe Bruce was using as a makeshift bat, trying to keep it still. The Ranger turned to look at him face to face. Newt figured the guy was probably still three years shy of thirty. They were close in age, their younger years eaten by the IDDC and the war. Tears spilled down Bruce’s cheeks and caught in the stubble around his sharp jaw; he looked truly pitiful.

     “So um, while you’re detoxing…I could call one of your friends maybe? Does…does anybody know you’re down here?”

Bruce’s snapped his head side to side so violently he nearly fell taking Newt down with him.

     “Mmn… nnnh! No! No… _please_ don’t tell anyone. I just...”

His blubbered helplessly and let the pipe slide from his nerveless fingers, grabbing Newt into a tight hug. Newt felt the pipe drop from their collective grip and bounce harmlessly on the ground. That was a relief, but being caught in a drunken bear hug was not part of the plan. His feet were lifted up off the ground and Newt drew in a sharp breath as the air was crushed out of his lungs. He reached up to give Bruce an awkward pat on the back, wary of the Blue still clinging to the Ranger’s clothes. Newt was not the guy for this. He had the people skills of a home-schooled zygote. But…with that said, the guy needed help and Newt knew all too well what crippling failure felt like.

     “Hey, Bruce…um. You are covered in Kaiju poison man and you could probably…smell a little better. How about you hop into the ole emergency decontamination shower over there? I’ll clean up out here, and then you can crash on my thinking couch, okay? Sound like a plan?”

Bruce blinked foggy, blood-shot eyes and nodded. He looked down at his disintegrating pant leg, noticing it for the first time and furrowing his brow in confusion. He was apparently only mildly concerned by the life-threatening toxic sludge sizzling off the tips of his leg hair.

     “Yeah…yeah, okay.”

Newt watched Bruce shamble to the dank, somewhat moldy corner of the lab where the chem shower sat. The Ranger tugged at his clothes and stood on the inside of the florescent yellow lines that marked where the water would fall, thankfully without needing instruction. Newt politely averted his eyes and pulled on a fresh pair of surgical gloves, hunting about until he found his detoxifying pack. He had stolen it from the resident clean-up unit in the Dome; it was a backpack-like contraption with a sprayer attachment, and looked like something a gardener would use to kill aphids. Newt liked to use the hose to spray samples so he could dissect them without the small, pesky chance of death.

Giving the pack a few experimental pumps, Newt watched with satisfaction as a faintly pink fluid spritzed over the floor and hit the raw chunks of Moloch with a quiet but gratifying sizzle. He sprayed everything in a slow methodical pattern, moving left to right, then back to the center of the toppled pile of sample coolers.

     “Bruce? Throw your clothes into the silver laundry hamper, okay? That’s where my contaminated lab clothes are. Probably gonna have to incinerate your coat after this. Sorry, dude.”

Bruce grunted in return, voice still extremely slurred and clumsy drunk.

     “Doesn’t matter…”

     “There’s some plain scrubs in the drawer near the hamper, man. Just put those on. If any of the burns hurt I got some cream to put on ‘em so-”

The Ranger interrupted him, his words garbled.

     “Hey, Doctor Geiz…Guz…Doctor Newt? Thanks for being cool ‘bout this. Jus’...sorry.”

Newt picked up a deflated piece of Kaiju cornea and inspected it mournfully. There was little left to dissect. He set it down on a metal tray along with other bits he was able to salvage and shrugged.

     “Don’t sweat it. We all have shitty days where we wanna break stuff.”

     “Shouldn’t have come and broke your stuff. I knew there were…were _KAIJU_ in here so I…well…everythin’ seems like a good idea when you’re smashed. I’m just so mad. Mad. ‘Bout Trev….and, and fuckin’ _Gottlieb._ ”

Newt’s head jerked up so quickly he felt something in his neck crack. He cleared his throat as nonchalantly as possible, but was about as good at nonchalant as he was at mellow – that was to say, not remotely good at all.

     “Gottlieb? Um…Gottlieb who? Is he a Ranger?”

This question only enraged Bruce; Newt could hear him stomping irately in the chemical-infused water puddling around his feet, his low baritone voice going high-pitched and furious.

     “No! No, Doc…it’s Director Gottlieb…Lars Gottlieb. Y’know… the, the guy who helped fund the program with Lightcap an’ Schoenfeld? He’s taking all the _money_ from us and he wants to do something called the...the Mind Wall project.”

Newt continued to spray detoxicant absently, eyes wide. Lars Gottlieb. He had heard about him, but the guy was barely involved in the actual operations of the IDDC or its Shatterdomes. He was some kind of influential phantom that haunted any place with a naïve politician or private investor; in summary, a power-hungry asshole. That was where Newt had heard the name Gottlieb before. That was it exactly. Were Hermann and Lars related? God, what if he was…then maybe Hermann had been involved in the IDDC somehow? Newt absently sprayed the same sliver of flesh for a solid minute before he finally noticed and pressed on to the next spot.

     “What’s the Mind Wall project?”

Bruce belched despondently before he answered. It was not a healthy sound

     “Ugh…mmn. Yeah, he’s workin’ on this thing…it’s like a Jaeger but _different_. They put up these walls around cities all the time. The Walls are like Spectrals, ‘cept they just sit in one place…supposed to protect everybody but…but they need Rangers to work.”

Newt squawked in surprise, setting down the sprayer carefully after triple checking to make sure he had covered every inch of the bloodstained floor.

     “That’s _stupid!_ He would have to have it up all the time…and what if a Kaiju can just appear inside one? Not to mention all the places that can’t have one? I mean, there’s only so many Jaeger teams and they would be doing it twenty-four seven? How is that even possible?”

Bruce just grunted angrily in answer, apparently just as appalled. Newt fumed over bureaucratic stupidity as he filled a plastic bucket with water from the sink and threw it to the ground, washing the detoxicants and Blue residue towards several small drains installed in the lab floor. The water in the shower shut off and Newt heard Bruce searching for the scrubs, his wet footsteps slapping the hard floor. He considered taking another stab at calling Tendo but decided against it. It was weird that Bruce had been able to find his way to the lab drunk; weirder still that he knew Newt’s name. Probably just from Shatterdome gossip. Tendo was friends with every single Ranger in the program. He _had_ to be - it was part of his job to be on good terms with the people he guided through life or death situations. He would need to know about this eventually.

     “You find the scrubs, Ran-uh. Bruce?”

     “Yeah…they’re bit small.”

     “Haha…yeah, well. I’m a bit small.”

Newt pulled off his gloves and dumped them unceremoniously in a miniature bio-hazard bin next to his dissection table. He turned to see Bruce standing awkwardly in a pair of old green scrubs; water dripped from his hair and a deeply regretful expression was buried in the lines of his face. Thank God those scrubs weren’t backless.

     “See that old sofa hidden back behind the freezer cabinets? Right there next to the computer? Yeah…should be an old quilt on the back. You can sleep it off there as long as you promise not to Hulk-smash anything else today.”

The little patches or red skin on Bruce’s legs were already looking better and Newt gave an inward groan of relief. It was so minor he didn’t think the ointment was even necessary. He had gotten the Ranger washed off in the nick of time. Bruce wiped at his face and snuffled loudly, tears building in his eyes again. Newt decided to keep a healthy distance, just in case the Ranger felt the need for another hug.

     “I…I really do appre…apprec _ia- blargghhhh!_ ”

Newt cringed as Bruce turned his head and violently vomited the contents of his stomach on to the clean lab floor. The Ranger stared at the puddle of half-digested commissary food and vodka, then back at Newt apologetically.

     “S-sorry.”

 

By the time he had cleaned up the barf and Blue it was four o‘clock in the morning and Newt was ready to die. The headache was thunderous behind his eyeballs and his limbs felt like solid lead. He set the recorder bag gently at the foot of his bed and slipped off his boots; he had washed the bottoms before coming upstairs and the water had re-soaked his already damp socks. Pulling them off was a slice of heaven and Newt just lay wiggling his bare toes for a glorious moment, reveling in the fact he was currently out of bodily fluids to clean up. He stared at the ceiling and focused on his own breathing.

 _In_. God, he had a lot of work to catch up on. Not to mention he was going to have to write a detailed report about why he had lost all those perfectly good samples. _Out_. What if Bruce did this again? He wanted to help the Ranger, but in a way that didn’t end in so much paperwork. _In_. Was Gottlieb really getting rid of the Jaeger program? What did that mean for him? Maybe he would be cut, or transferred. He couldn’t transfer away from Topeka now. _Hermann_ was in Topeka. _Out_. He needed to get online and find out as much as possible about Hermann…shit, his laptop was downstairs...too tired. Too fucking tired. _In_. How was he going to juggle Chau and Hermann and work? Why was Hermann becoming a priority? Why the hell was Newt calling him by his first name? What was with all the mysteries lately? _Out_.

Newt blinked slowly, his vision turning watery. It was too late for a good bout of internet research. He didn’t have a session with Chau until after the weekend…he could catch up on work tomorrow. Sliding nerveless fingers into his computer bag Newt pulled out the panel Sköll had made for him in the hospital.

She had recorded for two hours. The average recording was usually just an hour or under; Newt supposed it didn’t matter when your subject was in a coma. Hermann couldn’t really argue or wake up and end the session himself.

He hugged the panel to his chest wearily and knew he was stranded in what he called a “between state.” Too tired to work, too wired to sleep. Half a dose and Hermann’s panel, that was what he needed…or not. Newt had to admit that half the time he was too drug-addled to completely trust his own judgment. He shoved himself up and reached for the rig. Prepping some Mab and the panel in less time than it took him to brush his teeth.

 

Newt blinked, staring out of Gottlieb’s eyes and was a little disappointed that he wasn’t seeing a purplish sky full of floating moon chunks. What he _could_ see was a slowly rotating wooden ceiling fan. It whirred in soft lazy circles, thick paddle blades shaking the thin metal chain that hung from its center. Newt had seen what could kindly be called a shit-ton of dreams in his time as a Panel enthusiast, but this was actually the first he had ever seen completely devoid of color.

When the Kaiju had first appeared and the dream tap switched off, Newt had turned all his focus on learning about them. In the process he had learned an awful lot about sleep and dreams, most of which was nothing more than speculation or useless trivia. Stuff like “People spend six years of their lives dreaming” or “Blind people can dream about smell.” All these little factoids made up the messy plethora of useless knowledge Newt carried around in his brain alongside his biology and neuroscience degrees.

At some point he had learned that approximately eighty percent of all dreams were in color, and the rest were black and white. So yeah, Newt knew gray-scale dreams existed, but he had never seen one until now. Hermann Gottlieb’s dream was all stark blacks, soft whites and a million shades of grey. The ceiling had the dull appearance of cheap stucco and as Hermann lowered his face to take in the rest of the room, Newt's disappointment fell away.

It was like he had been dropped in the middle of _The Maltese Falcon_. Gottlieb’s long legs were stretched atop a polished wooden desk. His equally polished two-tone oxfords crossed next to a clunky old Remington typewriter. Lining the walls of the little room were wooden filing cabinets and meticulously organized bookshelves. A leather sofa pressed near the door barely leaving room for a slender coat rack that held a single fedora and a worn grey overcoat.

The room was full of heavy shadows and soft noise. The swish of the overhead fan, the buzz of a smaller electrical fan top of a nearby filing cabinet, and the faint trickle of music from a radio Newt bet his great-grandmother might have owned. The instrumental music was a bit jazzy, performed by a big band with a hefty trumpet section. Newt tried to place the song but it was slightly outside his musical experience. A woman’s smoky voice crooned to the audience, her tone pleading and borderline sensual.

     “ _The moon was high the night that you first listened to a lie. Where was I...?_ ”

Light streamed through the windows behind the desk, pressing tight between the blinds and painting bars of shadow on the walls and furniture. Dust motes floated through the beams of light to join the thin smoke of a cigarette Newt realized was clenched between his teeth. He could smell the burning tobacco and the musty odor of old books and warm leather. Gottlieb reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out a small glass bottle. He poured some of its dark grey contents into a grey glass and took a long deliberate sip. It burned going down Newt’s throat and he marveled, not for the first or last time, just how vivid Hermann’s dreams felt to him. No other Nemo had ever given him a feeling of submersion so complete before. He just wished he could figure out why.

There was a knock on the office door and Newt’s heart lifted up high when he/they spoke. He was hearing Hermann’s _voice_. He was actually hearing the guy’s honest to God voice, and it was just as grumpy and haughty and good as he imagined it would be. He had a strange accent, clipped English with a BBC flare and under that the barest traces of German ancestry. In short- a total snob.

     “Come in. The door is unlocked.”

The pebbled glass door opened inward and a woman sauntered in. She was tall and wearing a beautiful grey silk dress, all legs and lips and bright intelligent eyes. Newt wondered who she was. It was actually physically impossible to dream about someone you had never met. The brain was an amazing thing that was capable of just about anything-But one thing it just could not do was conjure a person from out of thin air.

The woman pulled off her lacy flowered hat and looked right into Newt/Gottleib’s eyes. Her hair curled around her dark-skinned face and she lingered in the smoky doorway, visibly distressed.

     “Detective Bishop? You…you _are_ detective Bishop are you not?”

Hermann pulled his legs off the desk and leaned forward in his creaky chair taking a deep drag on his cigarette before he spoke.

     “I’ll confess the fatal appellation. Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable, Miss Ames.”

She walked further into the office, the light from the open blinds crossing her pretty face and highlighting the tearstains running down her rouged cheeks.

     “You-how do you know my name?”

     “It’s hard to forget a pretty face involved in such a gruesome murder.”

She stepped closer to the desk high heels clicking on the hardwood floor, her voice shaking and on the verge of hysterics.

     “But I’m _not_ involved!”

Hermann looked away from her and swirled the scotch in his glass slowly, observing the way the grey liquid moved in languid circles.

     “A question of schematics, Miss Ames. A man gets killed when you are within five feet of him and you turn tail and run? If that is not involved, then my dictionary lies to me.”

The woman- or was it “ _dame_ ” in this circumstance, Newt couldn’t help but wonder?- sat down slowly on the cracked leather sofa, pulled off her soft white gloves and opened her handbag with a snap, removing a handkerchief and a silver cigarette case.

     “I suppose it was foolish of me to run but…when I heard those shots I…oh, can’t you help me, Detective?”

Newt realized he was sinking into this dream kind of deep when he physically opened his mouth to answer. He fingers twitched, reaching to get a nonexistent lighter from the imaginary pocket of the slacks he wasn’t really wearing. Hermann pulled the lighter out and stood to light the strange woman’s cigarette. That indistinct line between the dream and reality was getting dangerously thin and Newt bit at the skin around his thumbnail to ground himself. Hermann -or Newt supposed it was “Detective Bishop” here- leaned casually against the side of his desk. There was an odd throb of pain in his hip and he reached to touch it idly, considering the beautiful distraught woman in front of him.

     “Your family has money?”

She dabbed lightly at her eyes, her mascara barely smudged by the tears.

     “Oh, yes! Lots of money…and I just knew that the infamous Detective Raymond Bishop…the same man who solved the Wandering Corpse homicide, could help me.”

Bishop crossed his arms across his narrow chest apparently unmoved.  

     “You think I’m gonna help you just because your father has enough scratch to buy this whole city, you better think again, kid. Perhaps I think that it was you that killed Lorenzo. Maybe it seems like a pretty open and shut case.”

Sometimes in the panel industry, like in every entertainment industry, stars would arise. No person ever dreams like another but there were some individuals who had a knack for the same kind of dreams or even one long continuation of the same dream. Serials. Newt was pretty sure they were called serials. One of the most famous Nemos was actually a kid. A little boy named Hansen-something. He had worked for the IDDC at the very start of the war and during the early sleeper rig days there wasn’t a person on the planet who didn’t know about Hansen’s dreams. A bunch of serial segments cut from one long Alice in Wonderland-esque story in which Hansen talked to animals and crazy people in the Australian Outback.

This office and the Bishop character all _screamed_ serial. It was obviously a place that Hermann dreamed about over and over again. Was this Hermann’s escape? This was not the persona Newt pictured for a geeky mathematician, but he had to admit: The suave gumshoe act was doing something for him. Something he couldn’t voice aloud in polite company.

     “Oh, _please_ Detective! You have to trust me! I swear I-I don’t know anything about…”

The screen – no, the dream itself – flickered around the edges, becoming blurred and hazy. Hermann looked around uncomfortably and the subtle noises of the office fans and the low mutter of the radio all dissipated. A wave of panic crashed over Newt and at first he thought that he was being pulled out of the dream, but it was pretty clear after Miss Ames’ voice went mute and the light from the window faded to black that whatever was happening, was happening inside the dream itself.

Hermann pressed frantically backwards as the noir world of his detective dream fell into a black, empty void. The pain in Newton’s hip and leg intensified and in the space of a blink the darkness was filled with blinding color.

Newt gagged at how unexpectedly painful the sudden vibrant color was after the soft and soothing grey tones of the Bishop dream. He was assaulted with a nauseating glut of sharp smells and obtrusive sounds; he gagged again on the mixed smells of sulfur, methane, the stink of rotten eggs and some foreign metallic stench that was half industrial waste, half body odor. The walls of this new environment were lacquer black and shone like spilled ink on white paper.

Hermann was tucked inside some sort of shallow cave, and just outside the mouth there was that same wounded world from the first dream. Those strange skies the color of light shining through a blood sample. It was as if, as if they had both woken from one dream into another.

Newt shook confused even as all these new stimuli pounded against his senses, heightening by his own curiosity and most recent dose of Mab. It was all so horrendously overwhelming that he was tempted to rip the rig off his head. All he had to do was reach up and removed the Pons and he would be out…-but his limbs felt frozen, pinned down by a desire not just to see where this was going, but to stay with Hermann. The thought struck that he didn’t want to abandon Hermann and he gave a half strangled laugh. _Abandon_? This was a _recording_. This wasn’t real or even happening in real time.

There was a low groan at the mouth of Hermann’s little hidey-hole. Newt felt their back press against the smooth obsidian stone, their hearts pounding too fast and breath coming in short gasps. A reptilian foot the size of a pick-up truck stepped almost delicately in front of them, its claws gleaming with a faint inner light. Gottlieb whimpered, his long legs drawn close. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and from his hairline.

     “Oh, Lord…”

Newt mouthed the words unprompted, the scene filling him with fears he hadn’t known since he was a kid with monsters hiding under the bed and in the closet. The claws clicked the stony entryway as their owner paused, shifting its gargantuan weight. Somewhere distant came a shrill call and the Kaiju at the door answered with a bellow that shook the ground. It rattled their bones and made Newt’s brain vibrate inside his skull. Hermann covered his head with his arms, curling into a tight ball of wiry muscles and cold fear. The roar lasted an eternity and the creature lurked a moment more before it lifted the curved, scythe-like nails and moved on. Hermann gulped down a soft, tearful moan before speaking reassuringly to himself in the coppery half-light.

     “It’s gone…it’s gone…ah-”

Newt felt a pull in his stomach and every shred, every atom of his being wanted to reach out and touch Hermann Gottleib. Comfort him and tell him that it was alright…but it was just a dream. It wasn’t real. It just seemed real, so incredibly _unbelievably_ real. The lanky limbs unfolded themselves and the now familiar pale hands gripped the side of the little cave, trying to find purchase so Hermann could lever himself up. He struggled on the loose shale littering the cave floor, his hip and leg protesting at every movement. Was this pain something related to what put him in the coma? Newt made a distracted mental note to ask Sköll about it. Pain this realistic in dreams was…unsettling. Not unprecedented, but disturbing all the same.

Hermann swallowed, trying hard not to make a sound. The closer he got to the cave entrance the stronger the harsh smells and the recognizable sound of pounding surf became. They really were back in that same hyper-realistic alien world Newt had seen in the first panel. Another serial dream maybe…, another environment that Hermann dreamed about frequently.

Still pressed to the wall, Hermann made it to the end of his shelter and was just about to poke his head out. The Kaiju, more flesh here then light as it turned out, was already a fair distance away. Gottlieb watched it warily for a few minutes to make sure that it wasn’t going to suddenly decide to turn around and head back his direction. He turned his eyes upward and Newt was once again taken by the sheer number of unfamiliar stars.

There was a new noise then, something so foreign and unfamiliar it was almost vulgar in nature. Newt could only describe it as a cicada playing a single note on a broken, out of tune piano full of rubber, and that didn’t even do it full justice. It was an otherworldly noise that he could not place or compare to anything on Earth. Gottlieb seemed to recognize it immediately and ducked back into the cave, eyes still on the night sky. He/they tensed, waiting in the shadowy gloom of the rock shelter.

Something that was definitely not Kaiju flew overhead, the noise following it as it left a blue-tinted vapor trail in its wake. It was crescent shaped, like two ram horns had been glued together to form a sharp half circle. Vague figures were driving it and Newt wished Gottlieb would move to get a better look. The ship- Newt didn’t know what else to call it- flew in wide slow circles over the rocks as if searching for something, and he felt a rush of cold fear when he realized it might be Hermann.

The ship hovered and the two creatures piloting it turned their odd oblong faces towards the cave and Newt could almost see the glint of multiple beady inhuman eyes. They were skeletal thin and had, at first Newt was sure they were hats or helmets, but now he couldn’t be sure. There were crests on their heads almost like the bony skull frill of a triceratops. There was another distant roar and the ground shook under the weight of a lumbering Kaiju. The ship sailed on and out of sight behind a cluster of tall, craggy rocks. Hermann licked his lips and sagged whispering something unintelligible to himself as the panel clicked and the dream ended.

Newt was asleep before he could pull the Pons all the way off. His own dreams, if he had made an effort to record them, were full of garbled half-true memories, dark water and fear. Even at half-price it was doubtful anyone would have paid for a panel of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the dialogue for the Bishop dream sequence was taken from a radio play that aired in the 1940's called "The Saint." The Saint was about a dry-witted and dapper young detective type named Simon Templar who was voiced by Vincent Price. I listen to a lot of radio plays from this time period but The Saint is a personal fav. The song that Hermann/Bishop is listening to is called "Where was I?" sung by Mary Ann McCall.
> 
> Thanks to Bluestar for the amazing proofread and Chal for being a super beta.


	5. Hypnic Jerks

   When Newt woke, his body hurt and grit was built up thick at the corners of his eyes. Reaching up to rub it away he felt the damp pathways of tears on his cheeks; he couldn’t remember why he was crying or what kind of dream had made it happen. Sometimes Mab caused disturbing responses like this; the drug randomly soaking into the emotional center of the brain and tied all the wrong wires together. Newt choked on a small sound that quickly turned into a noisy sob. Disoriented and still half-asleep, he reached over instinctually for his metal Mab case. Just a little hit, not even a half-dose, and he was sure the empty grey weight in his chest would ease and the indiscriminate blubbering would stop.

Newt grasped for the case and brought it to his face. He blinked groggily and caught a glimpse of his hands in the dim half-light. The feeling of disconnect with what he saw and what he expected to see returned in spades. Newt stopped dead and gaped at his thick, rough, and utterly unacceptable hands. He knew in his heart they were his own but his brain argued otherwise.

Sniffling, he slammed the unopened Mab box back down onto the crate that served as his nightstand and tried to get up, mind set on the bathroom. The minute he rested his weight on his leg an unfamiliar pain ran razor sharp up from his ankle, jamming shards of heat into his hip. He grabbed at his thigh with a hoarse gasp, massaging the tight uncooperative muscles. When the pain stayed stubbornly in place it was clear that he wasn’t dealing with an especially horrible cramp.

Limping into the converted storage closet that served as his bathroom, Newt put his/not his hands on either side of the bare metal sink and took shallow, labored breaths, struggling to collect himself. The hands thing was going to get better, he knew that much. The disassociation he had gotten over before, but…the hip pain? That was new.

     “No.”

Newt choked the word out, shaking his head back and forth limply. No. That wasn’t completely true. This pain wasn’t _completely_ new, and he sure as hell hadn’t gotten it from cleaning up Ranger vomit and Kaiju mess. He had felt it before in dreams; _Hermann Gottlieb’s dreams_. Newt whined and glanced up at his reflection in the cracked sheet of glass that served as his bathroom mirror. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, his hair a bedraggled birds nest. He was corpse-pale but there were unhealthy touches of fever yellow shining on his eyelids, a purple bruise coloring the skin around his port. He was in urgent need of a shave but knew he wasn’t going to give himself one. It was winter and he was homeless-man scruffy. Maybe it was time to just embrace it and go full beard.

Newt leaned in and opening his mouth sticking out his tongue, making faces at his reflection. It was hard to see all the details without his glasses, but in Newt’s educated opinion, he looked a bit strung out – a strung out, sleep-deprived son of a bitch.

Another soft sob built in Newt’s throat but he stifled it, running the sink tap until the icy water turned hot. The steam was soothing and had the added benefit of fogging out his reflection. Cleaning up, Newt finished his business with the bathroom and forced himself to pull on the closest thing to clean clothes he could find. The digital clock on top of his mini-fridge told him he had slept six hours. It had felt like three, tops.

 _Work_. There was work today; lots of good old, distracting, nose-to-the-grindstone labor. Newt dressed, shot-up and headed down the stairs to start the day.

 

The voices in the lab were loud and unexpected. Stacker hadn’t warned of any surprise inspections, but bursting in would be just his style. Newt hesitated before he entered, surprised by how warm the normally icy room felt. The reason became clear fairly quickly; there was an unfamiliar space heater at the far edge of the lab close to the wall of giant fans. It spewed heat over a raised area that could only be accessed by stairs, which Newt usually used to hold his servers. He had asked for the elevated space so it would be safe to do, well, exactly what he had done the night before. If he got guts and Blue everywhere it was important to be able to hose everything off and get the gunk to the convenient drainage holes.

Newt kept most of his books up there along with a few desks and a beanbag chair that was probably a few beans away from just being a rug. He expected to see all these things on the little metal dais, but did not expect to see half his shit piled in a convenient corner and a very unfamiliar spray of Jaeger parts in their place. The Japanese girl that Newt had tried (and failed) to have a civil conversation with during the Moloch attack was apparently setting up shop in a corner of his lab. Not only was she arranging a whole slew of unfamiliar electrical equipment onto a pilfered desk in his library nook, she was currently dumping some of his manga collection haphazardly into a box without a care in the goddamn world. To add insult to injury Bruce Gage was _helping her_ , a big stupid smile on his stupid friendly face.

Newt scrambled past his dissection table, spluttering with righteous indignation. He almost tripped on a length of wrapped electrical cord as he made a beeline for the girl and the Ranger.

     “ _What_? I…”

He pulled at his hair and waved at the girl, stuttering and struggling to release all the disbelief he was experiencing.

     “LAB. MINE. YOU _...WHY?_ ”

Bruce looked over at Newt and sheepishly held up a cardboard box.

     “Morning, Doc. Umm… I didn’t want to wake you up and Miss Mori has a signed order from the Marshall and Captain Pentecost, so I thought I should help her…”

Newt shook his head and pointed at Mori… _Mako_ Mori, if his Mab-spattered memory served. He was so bewildered that his voice was rapidly reaching a pitch that only dogs could hear.

     “You. Why my lab? WHY.”

Mako sniffed and took the box from Bruce calmly. She placed it on Newt’s desk and used a little blue pocketknife to pull it open, examining the contents with exaggerated interest as she answered.

     “My personal quarters are not large enough for my work. I need a larger space. I will not disturb your computer equipment. I am just moving your personal proper-“

Newt shook his head so violently he was sure his neck was going to snap, and drew in a hard sucking breath through his front teeth.

     “The dome has a fucking engineering lab near the-“

Mako wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes, pulling a rotor from the box and turning it over in her hands.

     “Most of the engineering lab has been shut down at the behest of the IDDC…there is very little research and development being done at this location for budgetary reasons. The Marshall informed us that they will not pay for the power to be turned on in that wing as it is an… _unnecessary_ expense. “

Newt waved at his pile of displaced belongings, angrily flapping his arms like he was trying to take flight. All this was making it increasingly difficult to miss seeing his own hands and he swayed, feeling the dissociative nausea return in an unpleasant wave.

     “I _told_   Pentecost I don’t have lab partners! I told him from the very start! He promised I wasn’t going to be shoved over in my own fucking space!”

Mako slammed the rotor down and gave Newt a look that he could only describe as murderous.

    “I don’t like it anymore than you! You think I would spend my time here if I had _any_ other feasible option? I just do not wish to be in Doctor Lightcap’s lab with those…”

She stopped choking on the word “ _Howlers_ ” and her posture flagged. Newt had to admit he didn’t blame her. He would rather set up shop in a public bathroom than work around the walking Kaiju-dead. Mako pulled uneasily at the blue streaks in her short hair, adjusting her cardigan distractedly.

     “I would love to find some space in a Hangar but they are mostly confined to manufacturing and repair, _Doctor Geiszler_. So here is where I will have to be.”

She said Newt’s name with such venom he flinched; it was like the very syllables that made up his title were poison in her mouth. Newt closed the distance between them, standing at the edge of the railing that surrounded the raised workspace.

     “Yeah, well….well The Captain still lied, and I’m gonna…gonna…”

Mako snorted and pulled another machine part from the box in front of her, waving it at him in exasperation.

     “You will _what_? I think it best you come to terms with this arrangement. I have made my peace with it and know that the Marshall and Captain Pentecost have the best interests of everyone at heart, even if they prove… _inconvenient_ to you and me. I will only take up this small area. I will not purposefully sabotage your…”

She grimaced, gazing at the wall of refrigerated sample units, eyes trailing to the kidney tube.

     “ _Research._ ”

He glared up at Mako, arms folded against his chest; she glared back, mimicking his posture unthinkingly and scowling. The silent standoff lasted a brutal five seconds. Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly.

     “Well, good. Right? That’s settled.”

Newt seethed and glared daggers at the Ranger, feeling absolutely betrayed. The bastard didn’t seem the least bit hung over. Bruce’s face did look haggard but he wasn’t hugging the base of a toilet or moaning piteously into an icepack. The Ranger’s posture was slumped and crooked, a telltale sign he was stiff from his night on the busted sofa. There were dark splotches under his eyes and if Newt had to use one word to describe his overall state of being, it would have been grey. Grey in both color and demeanor. At some point he had taken the time to go back to his room and change out of Newt’s scrubs.

     “Yeah, and why are you still here? You come back to smash something else? Why not smash some of _her_ shit?”

The little voice in the back of Newt’s head made a tiny noise of disbelief, and he felt a kick of guilt when Gage’s already colorless face went another shade of pale, his expression hurt. Newt’s guilt sharpened instantly but knew it was already too late to take the words back; he was too far into asshole mode and there was no going back now. Stumbling blindly to one of his metal storage cabinets, Newt rooted around until he found a roll of bright pink duct tape. The day-glo adhesive was usually only used to seal tiny cracks in leaky containment units. Marking them in an obnoxious color was an effective reminder to use real sealant later on.

Getting down on his knees Newt yanked at the tape with his teeth and began to mark a clear line between his dissection space and the area Mako had adopted as her new homestead. It was hardly worth it; she wasn’t even close to using half of the lab, but Newt, vindictive, felt fully justified in declaring a small-scale border war.

The floor was still damp in places from his cleanup the night before and Newt struggled to keep his head turned to the side, away from his hands, as he pressed the tape down into a straight line. Mako leaned over the rail and watched him make his way around her platform with what could only be called profound disgust.

“That isn’t really _necessary_ , Doctor Geiszler. I promise you there is nothing in this room that I would touch without at least eight layers of protective gear. Being in this foul smelling place is as much a burden to me as to YOU,”  
She turned with a swish of skirt and highlights and smiled at sweetly at Bruce.

     “Ranger Gage, if you would be so kind as to carry Doctor Geiszler’s things to HIS SIDE of the laboratory?”

She gave a final snort and went back to unpacking her boxes. Bruce laughed weakly and picked up an armload of comic books, padding down so he straddled the new pink dividing line, one foot planted on either side.

     “Doc…I...”

Newt waved him off. There was an embarrassing red flush in his cheeks and he didn’t think he could say anything without the words coming out as a perturbed squeak. Bruce lowered his voice, words reconciliatory.

     “I brought you some food. It’s just a lunch tray, but I figured you’d be hungry.”

Newt grunted in answer and Bruce’s heavy boots disappeared from his line of sight. After laying down the soggy tape line, Newt tried to get back to his feet and found it much more difficult than getting down; his hip throbbed like the joint was covered in angry hornets. A burning ache worked its way down from his pelvic bone to sit hard in his knee and shin. He went down on all fours and tried to get his breath, whining at the weird unfairness of the world.

     _Why me? Why now? What have I done to deserve this?_

He answered himself immediately.

     _Tons, dude. You’ve done plenty to deserve this._

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Newt managed to get unsteadily to his feet. He made his way to the samples and grabbed a random cooler from the top of the pile. He counted backwards from forty and wiped down his dissection table, ignoring everything but his work. He spotted the food tray that Bruce had brought for him. A sandwich, some apple slices…something that was possibly pudding? All of it sat harmlessly on his desk, looking enticing. His stomach groaned but Newt refused to budge. He didn’t want to give the Ranger the idea he was forgiven.

At least the uncomfortable dissonance with his hands was fading-or he was just getting used to it again. Either was possible. The hip pain was being much more of a bitch and Newt couldn’t perform the autopsy standing up like he usually did. He pulled a metal stool to the table, making sure to drag it in the loudest, most annoying way humanly possible.

_Enjoy THAT, Miss Teenage Wunderkind._

Going through the motions of sterilizing his worktable and mumbling to himself had a soothing effect. By the time he had everything he needed to begin the actual dissection Newt was feeling better. Still pissed, but a calmer sort of pissed. He was concerned that Mako’s little heater had made the lab warm enough that his samples would start to spoil. Thankfully, the space-age containment coolers had done their job and he would probably get everything into cold storage before anymore major fuck-ups.

The first piece Newt dumped onto the examination slab was nothing but a giant vein. He scraped the inside and hummed to himself distractedly, studying it; no plaque build-up. Moloch must have been living right. Ha ha. Cue laugh track.

     “So, Miss Mori-”

     “Mako, Ranger Gage. Please just call me Mako.”

     “Then just call me Bruce. Makes things easier. Is this the last box? Where do you want it?”

The pain in his hip dulled from glass shard intensity to throbbing annoyance and Newt felt the swimmy, pleasant kick of his morning Mab make its presence known. Cataloguing while he was high was better and -so he thought, anyway- more productive.

He started to enter the zone. Usually he had on headphones while he worked, but he just couldn’t bring himself to ignore the two strangers in his territory. Doing his usual routine somehow meant he was agreeing with Mako’s presence here and he wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet.

     “So…finish what you were telling me before we were interrupted so RUDELY.”

Newt held up one gloved hand without raising his head and opened and closed his fingers a few times to imitate a talking mouth. _Blah blah blah._ If Mako saw it she ignored him.

     “You were telling me about the early days. The start of the Specter program...”

Bruce shuffled a few boxes and his voice lacked enthusiasm, a definite hollowness to his tone. Why didn’t he just leave, Newt wondered. He didn’t have to stick around the scene of his unspeakable night crimes. He could go back to his quarters or…

_Anywhere that reminded him of his brother._

Oh, yeah. That was a good reason to stick around. Stick around and have some kid genius pester him with painful questions. Newt snarled, irritated and frankly amazed that he had found somebody with less social tact than himself.

     “You know what, Miss Mori? Maybe the man doesn’t wanna talk about it. You ever think about that? Maybe you should just leave him alone? Hmm?”

Bruce shrugged and smiled at Newt resignedly. Mako just frowned.

     “Nah, its okay…I don’t mind. I told you we were actually recruited right? I think that’s where we left off…

The Ranger flopped heavily into Newt’s decrepit old beanbag chair and stared up at the ceiling, hands behind his head.

     "The U.S. military sent out a survey to find out how many of its soldiers were Nemos. Most of the nations probably did. I think they even tapped the reserves. That was back when they didn’t call people who could dream Nemos. A civilian came up with that one...some magazine article...Time, I think?”

Mako gave up unpacking her odds and ends and sat in a squeaky office chair, studying Bruce with her intense dark eyes. There was something there besides just curiosity, but Newt didn’t know what it was…jealousy? Compassion? Maybe a combination of both.

     “We went to the training Dome in Eureka first with a group of ten or so. Most of the people taking part were related by blood. Not all…maybe half. They had a hunch it would be easier that way. The minute we got to the testing facility they started the trials.”

     “Trials? As in compatibility testing trials?”

Mako leaned towards him eagerly, hands grabbing tightly at the chair’s armrests.

     “Was it different in the early days? I have never witnessed real compatibility sessions aside from physical combat in the Kwoon.”

Mostly ignoring the conversation, Newt debated decontaminating the contents a new cooler as he sliced some of the Kaiju aorta for microscope slides. He was getting obnoxiously lightheaded and the food that Bruce had brought was just taunting him now. Pulling off his bloody gloves Newt washed and disinfected his hands the traditional four times before he picked up the tray. He flopped onto his thinking couch to eat, still pretending not to listen. He had to admit, compatibility was interesting. He didn’t know anything about pilot training or drifting outside of the barest mechanical sense, stuff that Tendo told him or things he remembered from his time observing in the early days in Eureka and Elko.

     “The Kwoon isn’t really what they go by. It’s great for a lot of things but it’s not the end-all when it comes to deciding compatibility….”

Bruce paused a moment, blinking at the greasy overhead lights as he tried to put words together. Newt knew that look well; he experienced that same detachment with people constantly. Explaining Kaiju and explaining his tattoos took words that didn’t exist in the English language yet.

     “The process hasn’t changed much since the start of the war. First thing they do is record some of your dreams…you guys probably haven’t had that done before, but it’s not hard.”

Newt almost snorted on the milk he was drinking but managed to hold it in. Bruce glanced at him and the noise he made but didn’t stop.

     “So they record your dreams, and then they let your potential partner watch them. If you are really compatible then you get all sorts of side effects after a viewing.”

Mako was almost bouncing in the chair, her voice breathless.

     “Side effects? What kind of side effects?”

     “Right after we...I, did the first dream test, it was like… you get this thing that the meds call _disconnect_. I had this weird disjointed feeling like I wasn’t in the right body. I remember I woke up after the first night we did the dream thing and went to go shave, and when I looked in the mirror it was like looking at a stranger. Like my brain kept telling me that my eyes were the wrong color. Tr-“

Bruce stammered and struggled a minute, his voice breaking up slightly.

     “Trev and I are near-identical twins, but…he got Mom’s blue eyes, and I…I got Dad’s grey. I mean, nobody would ever notice it unless you were staring us straight in the face. But I knew right away. After so many years you get to know your own face.”

Newt held the peanut butter sandwich halfway to his mouth, his entire body frozen in shock. Mako blinked and seemed to finally notice how upset the questions were making Bruce; her shoulders sagged under her grey cardigan.

     “Ranger, I’m sorry. You do not-“

Bruce waved her off, wiping at his eyes.

     “Ah, it’s okay. Good to just talk to somebody…”

     ”What other side effects are there?!”

Newt blurted it out so loud he was nearly shouting, hands clutching his sandwich so tightly the peanut butter and grape jelly were squirting out the back of the cheap, ration-grade bread. Bruce looked over at him in surprise.

     “Oh, um…well, they do this thing called the Phantom circle…it’s a whole series of tests where they stick you and your partner in different rooms and do reflex tests. Prick your finger, knock on your knee. See how much the other person can feel. Better your connection, the more you can sense…usually they don’t do that until after the first practice drift, but sometimes they’ll try it after the dream test. In the really strong connections you can feel when your partner is hurt or even hungry.”

Newt threw the sandwich back onto the plate and lurched to his feet; he shook out his hands and started to pace back and forth on his side of the pink boundary line.

     “Disconnect…disconnect. How long does it last? How soon did you get it? Do pilots take Mab-I mean…Mabenosine when they do the test?”

     “Er, well-“

The moment he opened his mouth to answer, Newt interrupted Bruce with a fresh round of frantic questions.

     “Can disconnect happen with any recording? Why does it happen? Does it always mean that you’re compatible? Why-“

     “Doc! Slow down!”

Bruce stood and Newt stopped pacing to blink at him.

     “Sorry, man, I just…“

Mako looked around Bruce with sharp curiosity, observing Newt like he was a bug in a jar; something to be examined closely. She would take careful notes on his behavior and file them away before she opened him up on his own dissection table just to see what made him tick. Newt felt his legs begin to shake violently, the blood in his extremities turned cold as panic rose hot in his stomach. He and a total stranger were drift compatible. He and Hermann Gottlieb, who he had found on the equivalent of a bargain bin dream-tape, fit together like a hand in a surgical glove. Ranger Gage stepped off Mako’s dais, staring at Newt with sincere concern

     “Doctor Geiszler, are you alright?”

Newt didn’t answer, his fingers moving through his wild hair as his brain struggled to put two and two together. Was he alright? Did this drift partners theory even hold water? His immediate connection – no, his immediate _attraction_ suddenly having an explanation was just too fucking convenient. Too embarrassingly simple.

     “Yeah. Yeah dude, I’m fine….just a little tired. I…I think I’ll head up and take a nap. Finish this shit later. Sorry for throwing a fit earlier. Just tired...”

He glanced at Mako, the look vacant and glassy eyed.

     “Sorry, Wunderkind. I’m just not…ha. Ha, ha…just…not feeling like myself.”

Newt started to laugh before he could stop himself, the noise coming out high-pitched and desperate. _Not himself_. That was so fucking hilarious it was a shame he was the only one who got the damn joke. In a rush he jammed all his remaining sample coolers into the freezing units. He didn’t bother to label anything but he couldn’t leave them out anymore. He paced between the dissection area and the wall units in a daze; no matter what his state of mind, he still had the good sense not to let Kaiju flesh go to waste.

Once the last of Moloch had been safely stuffed in the freezer, Newt grabbed the crumbly remains of his lunch and his laptop, heading towards the door out of the lab before the engineer or Ranger could stop him. Bruce followed, a bemused look on his face. He didn’t seem to know if he should be smiling at Newt’s behavior or calling up the medics to cart him off to the infirmary.

     “Hey, Wait Doc. I didn’t answer any of your questions. Why not stick around? I mean you just seem-“

     “Don’t worry about the questions. I was just thinking out loud. I do that. I think out loud then scream my thoughts. It’s like daytime night terrors. Everybody has their problems, right? Ha, ha…”

Bruce didn’t look convinced and Mako even less so, both watching Newt as he stumbled through the side door. He gave them a harried wave and ran up the stairs to his quarters.

 

The first search on Hermann’s name came up with only three results. Newt decided to play it safe and entered “ _Dr. Hermann Gottlieb_ “ and “ _Mathematician_ ” into the search just in case there was a plethora of different Dr. Gottleibs. Who knew? It could have been a really common name in Germany.

The first two results were from defunct faculty directories on a school webpage that Newt had never heard of. The school was in Munich and he gathered that Hermann used to work there in the physics department. Newt doubted the school would provide him with personal information about an ex-professor. The find was interesting, but not really helpful. The third and last link was a different story. It was a news article published five years ago, and it was about the Jaeger program.

Hermann had worked in Castletown at some point. The article was from the old BBC archives, detailing the science department for the newly formed Shatterdome. Located on the Isle of Man, the Castletown Shatterdome was the only dome in the United Kingdom. It was a massive and oddly shaped thing whose Jaegers protected the entirety of Ireland, England and Scotland. Its transmission towers were nowhere near as impressive as the ones in Topeka, but it was said to be powerful enough to help out the Netherlands or even Germany if push came to shove.

Hermann had been the head of the UK Jaeger-sci department at the beginning of the war; though the article was frustratingly vague about the exact nature of his work it was clear as crystal that he was important. The BBC had conducted interviews with the physics team and some eminent engineers who were developing the brain-to-brain connection tech. They were building mostly on what Lightcap had started, but Hermann - what the fudge was _Hermann_ doing? Newt growled under his breath and re-read the story another four times just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything.

_“Hermann Gottlieb, preeminent physicist and computer scientist, has taken his vast knowledge of the mysteries of outer space and turned them inward. Unsurpassed in his understanding of coding and computation, the young prodigy is working with the core Castletown brain trust to develop a more stable connection between pilots, and in the process, a more stable Spectral.”_

Newt rubbed at his tired eyes and skimmed the article further, glancing over the report of some other scientist who was working on improving energy consumption for Shatterdomes and a third who was dabbling in three person drifts. Man, this article was old; the three person drift had been common practice for years. The asshole responsible for energy consumption had failed spectacularly, but the three person dude had at least finished what he started. Newt struggled to keep his eyes focused as he skimmed, but his attention sharpened again as he spotted Hermann’s name.

_“Gottlieb, who first became well known in the European scientific community at the age of fourteen, has an aptitude for discovering patterns where others might see random chaos. He has been lauded for his predictive models and claims that these are only the start of a helping preparedness for future breaches.”_

And that was it. That was the last they mentioned him. Newt leaned back in his bed, his head pressed against a pile of naked, coverless pillows and dirty clothes. Predictive models for the Breaches? Okay. So Hermann was a mathematician and he helped predict where a Kaiju was gonna pop up. You didn’t need a calculator to figure that shit out. People stop sleeping plus people use more Sunset plus Howlers plus electrical disturbances equals Kaiju. Bam, give the lucky man a Nobel Prize.

There was a photo at the very bottom of the old archive page that Newt missed in his rush to read the article itself, and he enlarged it with a few frantic clicks. The entire Castletown science department was standing in front of the Nox Roya, a Jaeger that was, at the time of the story anyway, one of the newest and most complicated Mark 2’s in existence.

Hermann looked like a baby in his enormous lab coat; the sight of it melted Newt’s heart into a puddle. He wasn’t smiling but there was a certain contented satisfaction in his eyes. He looked nineteen, but was probably older. Newt’s own smile quickly faded when he noticed the man next to Hermann. His name hadn’t come up in the article but there he was: the other Gottlieb. The _older_ Gottlieb. The caption under the photo told him everything he needed to know.

_“Pictured above from right to left: Doctor Ulysses Canemaker, Professor Emma Driscoll, Doctor Lars Gottlieb and son Doctor Hermann Gottlieb…”_

Newt stared at the photo another minute or so before he unconsciously saved it to his desktop. Why the hell had Lars Gottlieb stashed his comatose son in a dank hospital room, never to be seen again? More importantly - what had landed Hermann there in the first place? The whole thing was getting so damn bizarre.

The internet offered Newt no more answers. No matter what combination of key words he used there were no more rogue BBC articles or hidden nuggets of exposition. Newt debated with himself, picking up a half-full vial of Mab and turning it over in his fingers absently. Lunch was sitting hard in his gut and he felt nauseous.

He had not wanted to get Tendo involved in this. Not really. There was probably never a time where he didn’t want Tendo’s help but there were plenty of times where he didn’t want to ask for it. He didn’t have a choice this time. Tendo was a Bridge jockey. He had access to the DD peer system - the Dome to Dome intranet where Shatterdomes shared intel and kept records. Records like, oh, say, employee dossiers and experiment records. It would have _everything_. Every time Hermann had submitted a monthly report and requested funding, it would be the system. Tendo could see the last time he requisitioned a roll of fucking toilet paper. Newt didn’t have that kind of access.

He turned slowly onto his side and set his laptop on the floor, searching lazily through his inspiration folder. A quick recording session and he would go finish a few more sample containers. By then it would probably be way past the Wunderkind’s bedtime. Newt was still exhausted from Bruce’s nighttime shenanigans, and if he didn’t bring Liang something when he came in for his next recording, it would not be well received.

The pain in Newt’s hip throbbed in time with his pulse and he struggled to find a comfortable position. He selected a random dinosaur documentary and hit play, hooking up the recorder and taking his Mab as the narrator began to talk about supercontinents and long dead ecosystems. Using movies or images right before he slept didn't always guarantee great dreams but it usually helped Newt sleep easier. Today was no exception.

 

When Newt fell in dreams it wasn’t the plummeting sort of fall of someone jumping out of an airplane without a parachute, but the kind of sluggish fall that Alice had in Wonderland when she fell down the rabbit hole. It was like a slow downward descent through an elevator shaft full of honey; Newt found his falling dreams were more annoying than terrifying. This dream was one of these familiar slow falls through pitch darkness; the dark itself felt like a solid object pressing heavily on him from every side. The jet-blackness had the consistency of tar as it pressed into his open mouth and against his open eyes.

The black hole sucked him down an endless distance and Newt struggled in a blind panic to swim through it. There was nothing to orient himself here: No light, no gravity, no noise. Newt pawed at the nearest patch of thick, rubbery air and as he did he finally felt his fingers shift through it, changing the texture of the world itself. He blinked - or thought he did- and in the brief moment the black tinted to a deep sapphire blue.

He was a kid floating at the bottom of the Seneca Falls public pool in his dinosaur swim trunks, staring upwards at the light of a summer afternoon. He had just taken his first jump off the high dive. Or, no, that wasn’t right; he wasn’t below the water at all, he was hovering above the hallway of the Topeka Shatterdome. The blue color that tinted the world wasn’t water at all. It was the flashing of a Kaiju alarm, the harsh lights that warned of an attack in some exotic far-off city like Helena or Denver.

In that strange, dream logic way it all made sense. Newt realized that he was both above and below. He was hovering in the center of two unrelated realities. Little bubbles of air floated from his nose and mouth and up towards the worst day of his childhood and below his paddling feet the halls of the Shatterdome bustled with frantic engineers and anxious mechanics.

He turned in a slow circle, watching the rush of PPDC foot traffic. None of the people in the metal corridor seemed affected by the water. While Newts trunks and hair floated around him ghostly waves they went about their business, dry as a proverbial bone. Newt hung suspended above them silently knowing innately that eventually he would have to pick a direction. _Up or down_. Neither seemed very promising, but he needed air-or his brain thought it needed air. Finally, Newt decided to go up. He kicked towards the wavering blurry world of chlorine and summer, the faceless silhouettes of the other kids watching him just above the surface. He broke through the top of the glassy pool and took a deep lungful of air.

He wasn’t at the Seneca Falls public pool. He had breached right into Hermann’s hospital room. It stretched around him on all sides, impossibly huge, the walls extending up and out of sight. Newt’s head and shoulders stuck out of the worn linoleum floor. He felt like he was treading water but the ground was apparently liquid to only him. Like the detective’s office in Hermann’s Panel, the hospital room was devoid of color. A solitary light came from a squat table lamp that stuttered like a candle flame. Newt swam through the checkered floor towards the bed. He could see Hermann’s thin hand hanging down from the side. His long graceful fingers curled slightly, wrapped mummy- like in a plethora of black and white wires.

Newt reached for the hand - for Hermann- and he was suddenly standing next to the bed. No longer a little boy in swim trunks, he was older and wearing his old winter jacket. The lamplight wavered, flickering like an erratic pulse and Newt looked down in the strobing darkness…trying to see Hermann’s face. It was there, but he was having trouble making it out.

A deep dread filled Newt’s body, his lungs turning to lead and his stomach to ice. He couldn’t see, but he knew that Hermann’s eyes were open. There in the dark his eyes were open and he was awake. Newt spoke, his own voice muted and distant in his ears.

     “ _I came to see you._ ”

The pale hand stirred slightly. Dread mutated into pure fear and Newt took an unsteady step back, sure that this thing in the bed was not Hermann. It looked like him, and it was in his colorless hospital bed, but it wasn’t him. The thing rose mechanically from the bed its face and upper body still buried in the dark, only its bare back and arm visible. Its breathing was ragged and inhuman, the sound of water lapping on sand - a repetitive, hissing rumble. Newt’s voice trembled.

     “ _Where is he? Who are you?_ ”

There was a sharp crack as the thing that was and wasn’t Hermann bent forward, the bumps of its spine visible and shifting like maggots under the translucent skin. It pushed one pale leg out from under the woolen hospital blanket, and then the other until its naked feet rested on the checkered floor. With each breath it was swelling and Newt could only step further and further away, never gaining any real distance as he did so.

The Hermann-thing lifted its head to face him. Its collarbone snapped and reformed as it opened its mouth, thin bloodless lips stretched taut over sharp curved teeth. Newt could see that the monster’s eyes were blue, the only color in the room; they were glowing the intense color of the flashing Kaiju alarm. When the Hermann-thing spoke it did not move its mouth; its voice had that beautiful familiar English lilt to it, but it was overshadowed by a cacophony of growls and whines. The echoes of an animal in pain.

     “ _Seems like a pretty open and shut case._ ”

The words grinded at Newt and the Hermann-thing staggered to its feet, its jerky movements perfectly mimicking those of the Howler Newt had seen in Lightcap’s lab. Hermann’s pale, angular face was changing, his features skewing and sharpening into something inhuman. It spoke again, the words dripping out of its immobile mouth. It wasn’t Hermann’s voice this time, but Mako’s.

     “ _Why would you defile yourself that way?_ ”

It was growing, becoming more and more Kaiju-like with every movement. All the endearing, familiar parts of Hermann’s face mutated into the scales and claws of Moloch and Trespasser. The light from its eyes intensified and filled the black and white hospital room with harsh blue radiance. Newt felt the heat from the Hermann-Kaiju’s gaping jaws as it moved to devour him. It wasn’t the inevitability of being eaten by a Kaiju that bothered Newt: it was the fact that Hermann was doing it, or something that had been partly Hermann.

He took in a deep breath as the first of the teeth gripped him just above his diaphragm. If the Kaiju had been Hannibal Chau or Liang Fang or even Stacker Pentecost it would have been one thing, but Hermann wasn’t like the rest of them. He couldn’t be. He had to be something _different_. The teeth took a long time to sink into Newt’s vital organs, through to his bones. Years passed before they even drew blood. From the edge of his grey MIT T-shirt Newt could see liquid squeeze out, floating upwards in thick sticky globules.

By the glow of the Hermann-thing’s eyes he could see that the dripping weightless liquid had color, but it wasn’t the obscene tempera red paint of fresh blood. It was pink -the familiar acid pink of Mab. The teeth sank deeper and more of the liquid that filled Newt’s body gushed out filling the murky grey-blue air.

That’s what he was full of; that was all that was left. He didn’t have blood at all. His veins were full of the dreaming drug and once it was all gone…once the Kaiju had squeezed it all out of him-he was going to die. Newt pushed uselessly at the teeth with hands that were sometimes his and sometimes Hermann’s, and screamed soundlessly.

 

When he woke up a few hours later, Newt used a heavy metal wrench to break the Panel with the dream recorded on it into sharp shards of plastic and metal. He threw them into his laboratory biohazard bin so that even the core of the cartridge was melted to useless slag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bluestar for the proofread and Chal for the edit!


	6. Looking for an Angry Fix

     “Newt…? NEWT!”

Newt blinked sharply, pulled back from far away by the urgency and irritation in Tendo’s voice; he felt like he had been asleep for hours, but it couldn’t have been more then a few seconds. His mouth formed slurred, mushy words and he hoped they were convincingly coherent.

     “Sorry. Sorry, Tendo. Man, I-I spaced out there for a second. What were we talking about?”

Newt shifted in his seat, taking a disturbingly long time to remember where the hell he was--a cab. He was inside a cab. He was--where was he going?

Tendo gave a long, exasperated sigh that was more worried than annoyed.

     “Are you in a den, Newt? Do I need to come get you?”

     “No, Tendo. I…”

There were muted voices and a distant clattering noise on Tendo’s end of the line. Newt felt a cold sweat break out when he realized he had called his friend during a LOCCENT shift. Good God, had Newt called his cell or the main line? The bridge techs recorded all incoming and outgoing calls to cover their own butts if a higher-up gave orders that went south. Tendo was now accusing him of using on what was possibly a public line.

 _Please_ , Newt thought sluggishly. _Please let sleepwalking me have called his cell_.

Tendo lowered his voice to a gruff whisper that had a whiff of panic in it.

     “Seriously, Newt. I can come get you. Tell me where you are…”

Newt felt some of the clouds obscuring his brain clear. The inside of the cab was freezing. The heat seemed to be broken and thick feathery snow was pelting the windshield. Newt searched his memory; he had been at a recording session. He had been at Chau’s and it had not gone well at all. Newt bent forward towards the driver trying to see him through the thin metal mesh separating the back of the cab from the front. He pressed the phone to his shoulder so Tendo wouldn’t hear what he was about to ask.

     “Uh, driver? Sir? This is a stupid question, but where did I ask you to take me?”

The driver turned to glare at him impatiently. It was late afternoon from what Newt could tell, the sun just starting to set. A cold bluish-purplish haze hung over Topeka. The recording session had probably lasted a few hours. Newt should have staggered straight from the warehouse to the dome tram. Why had he taken a cab? Unless….

     “You said you wanted to go to St Francis Hospital.”

     “Oh. Yeah. Right. Hospital.”

Newt slumped away from the driver and put the phone back up to his ear shakily. Tendo was hissing his name fearfully; his breathing was heavy, as though he had been running with the phone. That was one question answered. Newt had called his cell phone. Thank god.

     “Newt. _GEISZLER_. Talk to me, god dammit!”

     “I’m here. I…I’m just in town. I’m, uh… going to visit a friend.”

It scared Newt that he did not recall hailing the cab or calling Tendo, more so that he had no recollection of telling the cab driver where he wanted to go. If he strained hard he could remember the failed recording session and watery remains of an intense Liang lecture. There had been no empty threat session from Chau but Liang had chewed his ear about…something. It was about more than following his end of the bargain. He had proposed something else, something stupid. Yeah. He did remember that.

Blackouts weren’t uncommon after a recording session, especially if he had been overdoing it on the Mab beforehand. Newt reached in his pocket and felt a handful of new vials clicking against his fingernails. Had Liang given him those? Had he been to D’Onofrio’s before this? No… If he had been to D’Onofrio’s it would have been completely dark out now.

There was a noise like rustling paper and Tendo paused to catch his breath.

     “ _Friend?_ Dealers aren’t _friends_ , Newt. They don’t-“

     “It isn’t--it isn’t what you think.”

The cab driver was still casting glances back at him and Newt offered an affable smile in return. It was a smile that said: _Hey, man. You’re the one who picked me up. You don’t get to judge._

     “Look, Tendo. When did I call? Just now?”

When had he had a lapse this bad? Newt couldn’t remember a blackout that had lasted so long. At worst he would fall asleep in an uncomfortable place like a drunken college student. At best he would be in the middle of something, blink, and wake back up to find that some time had passed. Little stretches of lost time. Brainfarts. This was something different …or maybe just a worse symptom of a more horrifying problem.

     “You called like five minutes ago! Didn’t say anything at first, then you said my name and acted like you weren’t the one who punched in my damn number! This has to stop. We have to get you--I don’t know! Help or detox or _something!_ I can’t let you do this to yourself anymore. I should never have let it go on this long in the first place-“

The tech’s voice cracked and Newt felt his heart squirm guiltily in his chest.

     “Tendo, dude, don’t do this--don’t-“

     “Don’t WHAT? Talk about how my friend is--how he has a _problem_?”

The tremulous teary edge in Tendo’s voice tightened. He spat the word ‘ _problem_ ’ like a mouthful of bad food and let it sit there between the two of them; a dividing line. He wouldn’t say the word _addict_. Maybe he couldn’t, Newt wondered. Maybe that would make it too real.

The cab slowed as it entered an overpass and the first small embers of headache flared behind Newt’s eyes. He was attempting to build a timeline, still trying to reconstruct the afternoon’s events even as he tried to think of some way to mollify Tendo, at least for the moment. He had worked late to finish the Moloch samples… submitted a cohesive and very gratifying series of micro-reports to the Marshall about some new muscles structures he had found in a sample of bicep tissue. After that…he had left the dome to go to Chau’s…yeah. That sounded right. He had this.

     “I am, Tendo. I’m going to visit someone. I--I think I called you to ask you something.”

     “Ask me something? Don’t up and call me to ask me--get back to the fucking _dome_ and ask me!”

Chau hadn’t been there at the recording session. Liang said he had been out of the city. She had given him a huge dose and he still had some Mab in his system. That had to be the reason for the lost time. It didn’t explain why autopilot him had hailed a cab to the hospital but it… Newt spoke again, softer, feeling the cab crawl to a halt. They were surrounded by heavy snow and heavier traffic. Newt curled his knees to his chest and took a shivery breath.

     “Tendo, don’t. I know, alright? I know it’s all a mess. That I _’m_ a mess, but there’s just something else more important than this right now.”

There was more white noise on the other end of the phone; the vague rustling of paper and clothing.

     “Can--can you just look something up on the Shatterdome network for me? I think that’s what I was calling you about. I’ve been thinking about it, like, nonstop.”

The rustling stopped and now it was almost utter silence. For a moment Newt was afraid Tendo had hung up but then his cracked voice was there again.

     “This about D’Onofrio? You trying to find some blackmail to get more of that shit from him? Or-“

     “ _NO!_ Tendo, for fuck’s sake! No! It’s not-”

     “Is it about the girl in your lab? It better not be, because I think it’s good for you. I think you need to have somebody there with you in that morbid light-lizard mortuary. I think Pentecost did you a favor, especially with your reputation-“

The cab was idling, the cold building around Newt to an almost unbearable degree. His coat just wasn’t enough to keep the chill from his bones. The driver had turned the volume up on his radio, listening intently to some static-ridden broadcast on a local news station. They repeated breaking news in Spanish, English, and Chinese if it was important. The announcer was speaking something that Newt didn’t understand, but he was only paying the barest attention.

     “Gottlieb! _Hermann Gottlieb!_ Have you heard of him?”

The name was hard to say out loud for some reason. It was like telling a complete stranger about something dark and incredibly private, sharing a secret password to a club where he was the only member. But despite the almost shamed feeling, Newt knew he should have told Tendo earlier. The tech’s ranting trickled to a confused halt.

     “Gottlieb? Do you mean Director Gottlieb? I know who he is; he spends most of his time in the Reno safe zone, I think. Easy access to the new congressional-“

     “No. Not _Lars_. Lars has a son named Hermann. Hermann. _Gottlieb_. He used to be part of the Castletown K-Sci division. He did something for the IDDC but I don’t know what it is. Tendo…, can you keep a secret? Well uh, ha--yeah, I guess you can. Stupid question.”

The snow outside the cab windows was falling more densely, becoming the sort of magical fairytale storm where many feathery flakes latched onto one another and fell in large, airy clumps. They stuck to the edges of the bridge and the car windows, taking an unnaturally long time to melt. Newt wondered if maybe he shouldn’t just head back to the Shatterdome. If he got to the hospital it might be awhile before he could get back. The city had snowplows but often times it didn’t run them right away. The expense of cleared roads was not worth diverting money away from the Jaeger power grid.

     “I didn’t know the guy had a son in the Corps. How’d you find out? Also, the better question is why do you--wait. Is that who you’re going to see?”

Newt ground his back teeth together, unsure if he was ready to divulge that part of his secret. How much was too much, really? Tendo knew the sad, dirty details about his little _indiscretions_ with Mab. Knew about his recording sessions with Chau and his relationship with an ex-ranger dealer too, but did he really need to know Newt was somehow brain-compatible with a vegetative mathematician?

How much _was_ too much information at this point?

     “Can you just look him up on the database, please? See if you can find out what he was- has been working on? His dossier? You know, all that good stuff.”

 _Click_. _Click_. Tendo was already on his laptop, his curiosity obviously piqued by the weird turn their conversation had taken. Newt tried to hide the relief in his voice.

     “You’re avoiding my question. Is Gottlieb the guy you’re going to see?”

     “Tendo I--I’ll tell you in person, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or--I don’t feel comfortable just blabbing about it on the phone.”

The cab jittered; the idling engine stopped completely and Newt missed Tendo’s reply, distracted. The driver was getting out his the car and Newt rapped a knuckle on the metal barrier between himself on the front seat.

     “Hey-- HEY!”

The man ignored him and Newt opened the back door. He poked his head out and watched as the cab driver spoke to the driver of the car idling in front of them. Now that Newt’s view wasn’t obstructed by metal and snow, he could see why the overpass traffic had come to a grinding halt. Camped out at the far end of the bridge were several black IDDC vans, their unmistakable red and blue lights flashing bright in the chill air. They formed a wall that effectively blocked any car from crossing.

Around them, everything was chaos. A mob of people stretched halfway across the bridge, squeezing past the barricade and beyond into the surrounding streets. Among the tattered bits of Topeka citizenry, Newt could see the familiar black uniforms of IDDC military police. The dome’s MPs were mostly hired goons; they acted as security to a Shatterdome and would aid local cops in an emergency. _Emergency_ usually meant a crowd of unruly people that had a bone to pick with rationing or city officials. It seemed like these sorts of pitchfork gatherings happening more and more frequently. Right now the MPs were trying to redirect the flow of people – potentially by violent means, if necessary.

Tendo’s voice trickled back into Newt’s ear and he jumped, so distracted he had forgotten he was still on the phone.

     “What’s going on over there? Where _are_ you?--”

     “I’m on the…East-line overpass. There’s something going down out here dude--there are people and IDDC enforcer cars all over. My cab can’t go through. Nobody can. It’s a mess…”

The snow stuck to Newt’s face, melting against his neck and sliding it thick wet clumps down the back of his collar. Tendo made a pleased noise between what sounded like sips of coffee, answering hopefully.

     “Well, if the cab’s not going anywhere just hitch a ride back to the dome with the black jackets. Visit your mysterious whoever when the weather isn’t so shitty. We can talk and I’ll make sure you eat actual solid food.”

The wind was picking up and bringing the threat of an honest to God blizzard with it. Newt debated, shivering against the sudden rush of frigid air. Tendo’s idea was a mixed bag. It wasn’t completely unpalatable; the MPs would definitely give him a ride if he asked, but they might also ask him a lot of questions. He wasn’t _technically_ doing anything illegal. He wasn’t out in the city past curfew, but…Newt patted his pocket nervously. He was carting around certain illegal substances directly on his person, but unless they had cause for suspicion they probably wouldn’t search him.

Newt rubbed at his temples, his heartbeat banging loud in his skull. Hermann wasn’t going anywhere…it was getting late and the weather was going bad, but he was still hesitant.

   “I dunno. I’m a little, uh….sticky. They might think I’m drunk and write me up or something. What are they doing out here in the first place?”

Honestly, what _were_ they doing out here? Why were they blocking those people?

   “You’re on the shit side of town. You said East-line, right? Not to sound like a callous asshole, but it’s probably another food-line riot, maybe a union demonstration. Hell, could be close to a sunset dispensary and they ran short so there’s trouble. We get calls to break up that shit three or four times a week now.”

     “I-- I don’t know, man-“

Tendo’s voice turned to that slick, coaxing tone that Newt had heard him use a million times in LOCCENT. He was a manipulative bastard when he really wanted to be. He had dropped the addiction talk at least…for now.

     “We can talk about your Gottlieb guy. I swear you can tell me everything.”

Newt pulled the Mab vials discreetly from his jacket and stuffed them into the deepest pocket of his messenger bag. He shifted the contents inside around until some of the nerves left his stomach. Let them find _that_ in a casual search. Newt stood shutting the cab door behind him. The taxi driver didn’t raise a fuss when he walked away without paying, deciding it wasn’t worth it or simply glad to be rid of him.

     “Alright. I’m gonna head into the mass of unwashed humanity and beg for a ride. I’ll tell them I was coming to interview some Kaiju attack witness over here. If they write me up or some shit I expect you to get me one free bail-out no questions asked.”

Tendo sighed deeply and Newt couldn’t almost hear him give a weary nod.

     “Just stay out of their way and you’ll be fine. See you soon, brother.”

 

   Making his way through the crowd was easier said than done. Newt navigated through the maze of cars and irritated motorists, slipping past a group of screeching people throwing vitriol at a patient man with a black jacket and a bullhorn; he could barely understand what anyone was saying. There was so much confusion and people talking over one another that the most he got were the words “ _IDDC_ ” and “ _monster_ ” out of it _…IDDC_ , _monster…_

Digging around in the side pocket of his bag Newt found his laminated Shatterdome ID; after flashing it at a few uneasy local cops in outdated riot gear he found it surprisingly easy to pass the crowd and beyond onto the other side of the bridge. He stopped and drew in a sharp breath when he saw what was going on just beyond the roadblock. There were a few Shatterdome higher ups and what was probably every black jacket the dome had to offer. They strutted up and down rows of people laying face down on the filthy street with their hands over their heads, speaking to each other in low conspiracy-laden voices, all of them apparently waiting for something.

Newt’s stomach twisted. This was _not_ right. This wasn’t just some food-line riot or curfew protest gone awry. The people on the ground were all wearing blue and red cloth bands around their upper arms and some of them were bleeding. Here and there crumpled paper pamphlets lay half-buried in grey slush and black snow. What were they? A gang? Part of that whack-a-doo Kaiju church?

Newt felt sweat prickle the back of his neck and forehead despite the cold. The snow was thick in the air and growing worse by the moment, but getting a ride back with these people was starting to sound like an incredibly bad idea. Riding back with soldiers who wouldn’t recognize him was one thing, but there were second tier officers here. Nobody on Pentecost or Marshall Kushner’s level, but still top shits.

Turning in a slow circle Newt crept towards the edge of the mass of vans and military. He tried to avoid sudden movements, freezing whenever one of them even glanced his way; if he didn’t move, maybe their eyes would simply slide off him like he wasn’t there.

Newt backed into a small side street; he was hardly a step into it when he heard the first gunshot, and it was the signal that turned everything backwards. The armbands pressed to the asphalt vaulted up and grabbed at the MP, reaching for their weapons as they all scrambled on the ice. Another shot was fired into the air and Newt could smell the unmistakable violent stench of pepper spray. The cops and black jackets surged forward in a roaring wave.

An armband who couldn’t have been older then Bruce Gage was struck hard with the business end of a Taser and went to the ground in a convulsing heap. Newt looked around frantically, glasses fogged by his breath, as he tried to steer clear of the fighting. He could barely tell who was on what side in the dim light and snow, and was pressed farther back into an area completely blocked by vans arranged in a makeshift chokepoint. He kept moving farther down the narrow street and didn’t stop until the battle noise was muted and distant.

The desperate voice came out of nowhere. He hadn’t realized there was someone else there, hadn’t heard the low groans and panting noises behind him.

     “What the fuck is going on out there? Lieutenant? I need help-!”

Newt whirled around so fast the swinging weight of his messenger bag nearly knocked him to the ground. The voice was so out of left field he was struck completely dumb when he realized who it was. Caitlin Lightcap was standing few feet away; she was wearing a long white winter coat that disguised her so well in the heavy snow Newt wasn’t sure he would have noticed her even if she was standing right next to him. She was holding a long pronged pole and her screams grew more frantic as the thing on the other end of it pushed forward in a snarling slavering burst of manic energy.

     “ _Lieutenant Godfrey!_ ”

Lightcap used the metal pole like a shepherd’s crook, trying to keep the Howler at a safe distance, pressing the pronged tip to its throat to keep it out of reach. Its growls and cries were muted, choked by the bar against its trachea but it wasn’t discouraged in the least. Its hands were reaching for the scientist in a blind rage, clutching wildly for her. Newt gaped and his knees locked. There was a _Howler_ here. Not in a cage or behind a thick protective sheet of plexi-glass. A fucking honest to God feral Howler, barely four feet away from him.

Lightcap slid on a sheet of ice hidden beneath the snow. She gave a shriek as the small slip allowed the Howler enough time to lean forward and grab the sleeve of her coat. Shaking it off, she tried to reach behind her where another pole lay in the slush. It had a loop of black nylon rope at one end like something a dogcatcher would use to wrangle a dangerous animal.

Every time Lightcap leaned over to try and reach the pole, the Howler- a huge man who appeared to be in his early forties -would gain more ground and his gnashing teeth would come just a hair closer to Lightcap’s neck.

Newt couldn’t move, his body rigid and locked in pure terror. _The armbands_. They weren’t just protesters; they were a Howler kill squad. Newt turned to look over his shoulder and could just hear the clash of cops and civilians. He jumped at the sounds of approaching gunfire and realized with selfish horror that he was trapped.

A long and terrible yowl echoed through the blocked street and reverberated through the muffled hoary air. Newt pushed away from it instinctively, giving a cry of despair when he saw a second female Howler stagger out from an alley several feet away.

It was now or never. He couldn’t pretend that Lightcap could handle it on her own anymore. She was barley able to get control of the six-foot tall monster at the end of her pole, and she wasn’t getting reinforcements anytime soon. Dropping his bag onto the sidewalk Newt sprinted down the street and slid onto his knees, grabbing the choke-pole that Lightcap was grasping for just as the second Howler caught sight of them and lurched forward. She didn’t move with just her legs; she was like a strange broken animal, sometimes pressing down on all fours, sometimes using one hand to push off the ground. Her eyes glowed bright blue in the dark and lather foamed around the edges of her lips, the spit flecked red with blood.

Lightcap stared at Newt long enough to register who he was and express silent surprise before she pointed desperately towards the mouth of the alley.

     “Geiszler! Tranq gun in the van! Get the tranquilizer gun!”

Newt shook his head and looked dumbly from his hands to the shrieking female Howler staggering gradually towards him. Lightcap grabbed the choke-pole from him and used one end to hit the male Howler as hard as she could. He fell back and she took advantage of the split second distraction to slam the butt of the pronged pole into the ground. It sparked to life, licks of electricity crackling over the prongs.

The air lit up with a harsh ozone odor as she jabbed the cattle prod deep into the male Howler’s gut. He writhed on the wave of electricity, eyes wide and glowing like a neon sign. The noise and light made the second Howler pause and snarl, backing off on her haunches. Despite the high voltage zap Lightcap was giving the male, he was still coming toward her. Blood was streaking from his nose, and tears from his eyes. The edges of his thick wool sweater were giving off a horrible burning smell.

Newt looked away; it was sensory overload and he couldn’t fucking think. Panic was starting to ease off, the vacuum it left frosty and blessedly numbing. The world took on a surreal quality and it was clear this was just some sort of messed up Panel dream. He was experiencing some fucked up nightmare and the Mab he had taken for it was _really_ good shit. This was Hermann Gottlieb levels of realism…this was--

     “Geiszler! For the love of God, _get the goddamn tranq gun!_ ”

Newt blinked and the haze of unreality cleared in an instant. The female Howler lurched closer. She was only wearing one shoe, a high heel; she had lost the other and her foot was bleeding, cut from glass or something else. She was wearing a torn dress and he could see her ripped pantyhose underneath. She snapped her teeth at him like a rabid dog and it was enough of an image to make his brain move his feet.

There was tear gas at the mouth of the alley. Newt coughed weakly when it went up into his sinuses and touched his lungs. The armbands and black jackets were still fighting just beyond the fog of gas fumes and gun smoke.

Newt pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth to avoid the gas that had reached the van Lightcap directed him to. The back of it was open, the interior lights on and the key still in the ignition. Newt threw himself into the back and shifted frantically through the mess of riot gear, finding nothing but a box of flares and some plastic canisters that presumably contained tear gas.

For a horrible moment he was sure the black jackets (or whoever else had escorted Lightcap out here) had grabbed the tranqs to help with the rioting Howler-squad. He nearly cried with relief when he found the metal case that held the gun buried under a pile of blankets and bulletproof vests. Pulling it open with violently shaking hands, Newt struggled to load it, looking around the side of the van to check if Lightcap was still holding the beasts at bay.

Lightcap was struggling to recharge the cattle prod, losing more ground as the male Howler shook off the latest zap. His coat had slipped halfway down his shoulder and he was down on all fours, making a horrible guttural panting noise. Lightcap held him off, smacking the pole against the edge of a fire hydrant and screaming hoarsely at the top of her lungs. Newt wasn’t sure if it was scaring the Howlers at all, but it sure wasn’t helping him.

Picking up the choke-pole with one hand and still holding the prod with the other, Lightcap lunged, wrestling with the male Howler until she had him around the neck. He gave a choking noise and tried to bite at the pole itself, teeth skidding against the metal.

     “Geiszler, where the hell ARE you?”

By some miracle Newt managed to fumble all five tranq darts into the gun without pricking himself. He ran back towards Lightcap holding the rifle out to her eagerly. She stared at him in outright disbelief.

     “My hands are touch _full_ , Geiszler! _Shoot them!_ ”

     “I-no, I-”

Newt shuddered and stuttered at her, struggling to explain.

     “I’ve never used a-a…-”

The female Howler was closing the gap between them without any hesitation now, her hands raking the air with fake fingernails hooked like claws. Her ankle was broken, Newt realized. That was the only reason she was going as slow as she was. She was so out of her mind she didn’t even seem to care her ankle had snapped from trying to run on ice in those goddamned stilettos. Howlers…they should have called them berserkers.

     “God help me Geiszler--just aim it and _PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER!_ ”

Newt held the rifle up and tried to make a good show of looking down the barrel. There was a sight at the end but he was shaking so badly he had no idea how accurate it was going to be. The male Howler was the easier shot, but the female wasn’t restrained or recovering from a blast of pure electricity. She staggered a step closer, almost within grabbing distance of Lightcap. Newt steeled himself, closing his eyes and squeezing the trigger in the same instant.

His aim was off and the dart shot into the dark; the gun recoiled hard and the impact of it made Newt pull the trigger again in startled reflex; the dart gun didn’t need to be cocked like a more lethal firearm and went off again almost immediately. The second shot buried itself nose-deep into the snow behind the male Howler. Lightcap lowered her voice and her tone was more coaxing despite the monster bearing down on her.

     “Geiszler, take a deep breath. Keep both your eyes open and shoot at the center mass. The chest and torso, don’t aim for the extremities…--just fire when I count to three, alright? Fire on three.”

Newt bit his lower lip and found himself imagining for a brief moment that Hermann was watching. It put a warm fire in his stomach that melted away some of the bitter fear around his brain.

     “Bulk. Got it. _Count._ ”

The male Howler had mostly recovered from his shock therapy, lunging at Lightcap with renewed energy. The female reached forward, the tips of her hot pink nails just barely brushing Lightcap’s elbow.

     “ _THREE!_ ”

Newt took a deep breath and felt the gun recoil slightly against his sternum as he fired. The dart hit the woman’s side and she grabbed at it, screeching in surprise. Newt didn’t wait for Lightcap to give the firing signal again, turning the rifle on the male Howler. He managed to hit him in the neck and thigh, respectively, with his last two darts. He was way bigger than the woman, it seemed better to be safe.

Newt almost didn’t expect the darts to work. The negative part of him that was always prepared for the worst whispered that now was the time to maybe drop the empty gun and run for it. He didn't. He simply stood rooted to the spot, watching as the Howlers slowly succumbed to the darts.

The female fell first, swaying and then flopping limply to the ground. The male took longer. He blinked drowsily and threw back his head to make a bark-like coughing noise, eerily similar to the noises the raptors made in Newt’s dinosaur dreams. Still collared tightly by the choke-pole, the Howler went down on he knees and collapsed onto his side, nearly taking Lightcap down with him.

The pair stared down the unconscious monsters silently for a few seconds. Lightcap was breathing hard, panting like a winded racehorse, her glasses hanging askew on her pale face. Newt glanced from her to the Howlers and marveled how they suddenly looked like--like people. The minute they had stopped making those terrible noises, the instant they hard stopped moving they had gone back to being people, with names and families…: just two broken human beings lying there helpless in the filthy street.

There was a harsh fluttering in his stomach and a tremor in his throat. Newt dropped the tranq gun as a Kaiju-sized panic attack loomed over him. He could already feel his lungs seizing up and his stomach constricting.

     “I think I might barf.”

Lightcap turned to acknowledge him finally, loosing her white-knuckled grip on the choke-pole and the cattle prod, letting them drop to the snowy concrete with a dull clang.

     “That’s a very…natural reaction.”

She tottered toward him hands raised, palms out. Newt couldn’t tell if it was because she was afraid of spooking him or she thought he was going to suddenly turn into a Howler and pounce on her.

     “That is perfectly natural in this circumstance, Doctor Geiszler, but…they are completely safe now. That tranquilizer should knock them out for several hours."

She blinked owlilshly at the male.

     "Maybe longer. You were a bit... _liberal_ with that one's dosage.“

Newt sniffled and knew with real resentment at himself that he was going to start bawling. He was going to cry in front of the crazy monster lady and make a damned fool of himself. She reached out to touch his shoulder and he flinched away.

     “Doctor Geiszler…it’s alright.”

     “ _ALRIGHT?_ ”

Newt gestured violently, arms pin wheeling in every direction as his voice rose to a shriek.

     “NOT. _NOT_ ALRIGHT. _FAR_ FROM ALRIGHT. MILES. _LIGHTYEARS._ ”

Lightcap reached out again, this time gripping onto Newt’s shoulder with one gloved hand. She waited to see if he would pull away, and when he didn’t she rubbed her hand up and down his arm soothingly. The small kindness was almost as bizarre as the Howlers themselves; Lightcap was not known for her maternal nature.

     “Doctor Geiszler…you aren’t even supposed to be out here.”

Newt was so focused on breathing he couldn’t argue with her or even form words with coherent syllables. She watched him, puzzling it out.

     “This isn’t the most high-class neighborhood….were you here to see a dealer? Is that why you were here?”

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her.

 _In-out-In…come on, Newt old boy_ , he coached himself silently. _You can do it. It’s just breathing_.

     “No? Alright. Well…you weren’t part of that lynch mob, were you?”

Newt raised an eyebrow at that, the whining gasps in his throat indignant. Lightcap gave a quivery laugh, the hard lines melting as she gave a genuine smile.

     “No. No, that’s ridiculous-- I apologize. I-“

She turned with a snap as the black jackets came spilling into the street from behind the barricade of black vans. Some of them were aiming guns their direction; the less tranquilizing, more death-inducing sort. Lightcap held her arm up fist out and pulled it down in a snapping motion, screaming as she gave the signal over and over again.

     “All clear! Area is clear! Subjects have been contained! Lower your weapons!”

Newt felt his vision go hazy and pressed a hand tight to his chest, the odd fluttery sensation of heart palpitations making him dizzy. Lightcap was giving directions even as she reprimanding the IDDC police. Newt had to hand it to her; she did not take shit from anybody no matter how much heat they were packing.

     “Lieutenant, was the request of ‘ _please leave some of your people as backup in case of emergency_ ’ too complicated to comprehend? Or did I not enunciate _clearly_ enough? Perhaps if I spelled it out for you and had the Marshall SIGN the order first you would listen to me!”

She was striding forward, dragging Newt with her as the alley rippled and spun. He closed his eyes and gagged, swallowing down dry heaves and nausea. A deep male voice answered among the confusion, angry and a touch ashamed.

     “I was trying to put down an UPRISING, Doctor Lightcap! We had no visual confirmation on your subjects yet. We weren’t sure they were even within-“

Lightcap snorted, cutting him off. The loud wails of sirens and chattering of soldiers grew louder, closing in on them.

     “We had formed the trap as I instructed. Everything was in place and yet you left me _completely_ on my own. And as you can clearly see, the reports of TWO individuals was very much correct.”

There was a pregnant pause and uncomfortable shuffling of heavy boots before Lightcap continued.

     “It was a _simple plan_ , Lieutenant. And I could not imagine a more spectacular way to screw it up. If my friend Doctor Geiszler had not shown up when he did I’d have had my throat torn out. It is just fortunate he accepted my invitation to see a specimen capture up close…”

 _Holy shit_ , Newt thought with his echoing aching brain, _She’s covering for me. She’s lying to them, for ME. Why is she even bothering?_

He hadn’t been accused of anything…well, not yet, anyway. He opened his eyes and clutched at Lightcap’s jacket, making a wheezy noise that was almost a question. She gripped his hand and squeezed it, still staring at the hefty broad-shouldered figure at the end of the blockaded alleyway. His was difficult to make out but he sounded older, maybe late forties.

     “Your _friend_ doesn’t look well, Doctor Lightcap.”

     “Well I’m going to get him taken care of. In the meantime, Lieutenant Godfrey…”

Lightcap’s voice softened, her tone threatening where her words could not.

     “If I see a single scratch on either of my new subjects, I will take it directly to Captain Pentecost and he will take it to the Marshall. They are to be treated as any prisoner: _humanely_.”

Without another word she turned and marched Newt away from the bustle and noise. Opening the back of one of the many black IDDC vehicles parked on the street, Lightcap examined the interior carefully before she shoved him inside, situating him on a metal bench. Newt felt hot tears streaking down his cheeks and snot dribbling from his nose. He wiped miserably at his face and glanced around.

It was a medical unit, a simple ambulance with bandages and oxygen tanks at the ready. He was glad he didn’t have to ride with the Howlers, no matter how sedated they were. Lightcap searched through one of the wall-mounted cabinets and pulled out a syringe, waving it in his direction.

     “I could give you something for the anxiety attack. Are you on Mab right now? This shouldn’t interact with it but I don’t want to dose you into oblivion.”

Newt grit his teeth angrily and sucked in a shallow breath.

     “N-no. No s-sedative. D-don’t want to be kn-knocked out.”

Lightcap sighed wearily but didn’t push it, putting the syringe back and closing the compartment with a click. Newt tugged at her and pointed weakly towards the area he had stashed his bag. Despite the snowfall he could just see one corner of it in the headlights of an idling van. It was still in the same spot, sitting innocuously between a car and metal post.

     “Get m-my bag please?”

She nodded briefly grabbing a med-kit from under the passenger’s side seat and slinging it over her shoulder.

“I’m going to make sure the H-cases are loaded alright. No matter how many threats I make I wouldn’t trust these people to guard a padlocked tricycle. I’ll be sure to get it, alright? Stay put.”

Lightcap touched his shoulder, brushing her fingers against his back as she left the van. He just raised his hand up in acknowledgment, still focused on taking in enough oxygen. Newt took advantage of the quiet moment and dropped his head between his knees. He counted his breaths and let his mind go blank as he waited for the panic to pass. The Howlers were down for the count, and even if it wasn’t completely necessary, Lightcap was covering for him. He wasn’t in danger of anything. He was going home. He could relax.

Newt was barely aware of anything but his jumbled thoughts until he felt the ambulance pull forward. He pushed himself up, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the corrugated metal floor. Lightcap spoke, her voice prim and almost monotone again; he hadn’t even noticed her getting into the vehicle with him.

     “We’re heading back…we’re lucky enough not to be sharing our ride with someone. I think a small number of the IDDC force were wounded in the scuffle with the crowd but nothing life threatening.”

There was a shuffling sound. Metal buttons. A zipper being undone. Newt jerked his head up and watched slack-jawed as Lightcap reached into his bag, rooting around the bottom before she began to pull out anything she could get a grip on.

     “What the hell! What are you _doing?_ ”

She didn’t answer or even acknowledge him, eyebrows furrowed. She ignored the more mundane objects like his laptop and wallet, instead going straight for the heavy bulk of his dream recorder. She had a hand on it before he had a chance to fully grasp what she was doing. Lightcap pulled the portable recorder from its hard leather case and stared at it mutely. Newt didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

     “So this is how you pay for the drugs.”

She turned the recorder over and rubbed her palm against the base, exploring all the contours with her fingernails. Newt giggled nervously.

     “Ha. I-I guess you wouldn’t believe I’m holding it for a friend, would you?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

     “No. I suspected it was something like this but I-“

She stopped mid-sentence and tapped the panel inquisitively. There was a chunk of green metal soldered onto the original black and tan shell. The lost time-fog lifted and Newt experienced a strange déjà vu; Liang had looked at that bit of metal with the same confusion. Newt whined a half-hearted protest when Lightcap fiddled with the casing screws pulling at the back panel and revealing a complicated nest of wires and circuits.

     “Don’t! Please, I-“

She stared at the hastily slapped together rig that Newt had attached to the recorder in disbelief.

     “I helped create these, you know. I helped design the portable units myself. For _training_ purposes.”

     “Yeah. I know.”

She touched some of Newt’s slapdash building work and finally raised her head to look at him. Her expression was stony and hard to read. He winced.

     “What are you trying to do? What is this garbage supposed to accomplish? Are you--you’re already on paper thin ice with the department and the Corps and you do _THIS?_ ”

Liang had blinked at him, shaking her head when he showed her the rig. He had pulled it out before she had even dosed him with Mab for the recording session. _You want to make it a two-way drift rig? Are you insane? How do you even know what you’re doing? Why do you want to do it?_ Her voice was ringing inside his head layering and merging with Lightcap’s until the two women were a single livid voice.

The idea had come to him in a flash of almost painful inspiration. If he really was drift compatible with Hermann, if he really wanted to meet the man or speak to him or just end this obsession, he would drift with him. All he needed was…

     “Aside from the obvious illegality of it…You-you can’t make a two-way drifting rig from-this-THIS is the shoddiest looking modification job I’ve ever seen!”

Lightcap held the rig up and shook it, her words a furious rush. Liang had reacted remarkably the same way. _Using some illegal bullshit rig you made yourself with very little knowledge of how a rig works…--you’re going to fry your fucking brains, Newton Geiszler._

Newt gave a dry chuckle.

     “I-I based it on the schematics from your early work. All that shit’s still in the peer-to-peer archives, all the way back to the beginning.”

     “Where did you even get the parts and equipment to make this monstrosity?”

     “I have an engineer lab partner. I kinda…borrowed stuff from her.”

     “You want to get yourself killed? Who are you planning to drift with? Why are you-“

Memory collapsed in on Newt in a staggering rush. That was why he had been in the taxi. That was why he was going to see Hermann. He hadn’t planned on going today, but it was as good a time to test it as any. Or at least unconscious him had thought so. Liang had dosed him up good and the blackout had done the rest.

     “If you were looking for the Mab it’s in a pocket at the bottom. That’s what you want, right? Were you gonna take it in as evidence? Get me out of your department?”

Lightcap touched the back of the rig gingerly, hugging it loosely to her chest. She pulled open his bag and stared balefully inside, reaching in to probe about until she found the pocket and retrieved the vials.

     “I don’t like you Dr. Geiszler. But I don’t hate you either. While I value your research my personal feelings toward you are mostly pity. Envy, in some regard. You can remove yourself so much from responsibility and seem to feel no regret.”

The words stung. Newt sucked at his teeth and massaged his forehead but didn’t answer. What was there to say? Lightcap held a vial close to her eye, nudging her glasses up her nose with her thumb as she examined the pink contents.

     “The Captain thinks you are worth saving.”

     “Pentecost? Why?”

She turned the vial over and examined the cap with a deep sadness.

     “Did-is this one of Sergio’s?”

     “No-no, I don’t think that’s one of his. Somebody else gave it to me…look, why does the Captain care about me so much? I don’t know him at all.”

The Mab vials went back into the bag one after another, Lightcap placing them delicately back in their hiding place.

     “Many reasons. I suppose I didn’t understand it either, until today. Until you saved my life.”

The van jostled, hitting a bump in the road. From the way his stomach dipped Newt could sense they were driving upwards, closer to the Dome.

     “Ha. Well, it took me a couple minutes to force myself to help out, so don’t be too impressed. I was really close to running off and letting you be Howler chum.”

She gave a sniff that was almost a chuckle and held the recorder closer. Newt ran his hand down to the back of his neck and massaged the rigid muscles there.

     “So what are you going to do about…”

He gestured to the bag and the recorder.

     “All this.”

She groaned, taking one last look at the inside of the recorder before she snapped the casing back on.

     “I’m not going to report you for the Mab. I owe the Captain a debt. I won’t report you on the recorder either; I owe you a debt. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who you plan to drift with at least? Is it some drug ring initiation or other shady thing?”

     “God, no. It’s just--no. I’ll tell you. But not until I get some things figured out first. How about a rain check on the identity but a promise that it’s for a good reason? Has _nothing_ to do with dream drugs or seedy city underbellies.”

Lightcap put the rig back in its protective container and slid the entire thing inside her coat, handing Newt his messenger bag back.

     “Give me a few days to fix this mess so you don’t kill yourself and your drift partner, whoever they are, and let me help you with this dependency problem you most _clearly_ have, and I shall keep your secrets. Give me a reason to like you, Geiszler. Because I truly want to.”

The van chugged to a stop. Newt looked Lightcap straight in the eye and saw that she was being honest. First he had somehow found a friend in a stray Ranger, and then gained a teenaged wunderkind and now...now he was finding help from another source he would never have imagined. Hermann’s presence in his world was somehow causing minor miracles.

     “I- Okay. Okay, Doctor Lightcap. That sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a bit of a joke/clue. The line is taken from the famous beat poem "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg. 
> 
> Bluestar edited this chapter to hell and back and did a damn fine job as usual. Chal is a miracle beta and I don't mention it enough.


	7. Skylark

     “His entire record! Wiped! I mean that’s weird, right? There’s weird and then there’s, like, _weird_ , am I right?”

Newt rubbed bits of melting snow from his hair and wiped his nose on the cuff of his jacket sleeve. Behind the drab chipped counter of the nurses station, Sköll glanced up briefly from her magazine.

     “Mmm.”

Newt took the noise to be an agreement and kept right on talking, shaking the damp from his pants and wiping droplets of cold water from his glasses.

     “Tendo scoured the whole goddamn database and found like NOTHING so then he started into the really old archives. We’re talking near pre-academy records! That far back and he found two teeny footnotes. Some funding bullshit that mentioned him creating predictive algorithms and a notice about his enrollment in the J-Science program. Other than that, nothing new! Nada! Zip! Squat! We know more about his DAD than we know about him!”

Sköll grunted again feigning the barest interest as she flipped a glossy page of her Entertainment Weekly. Newt pulled the two heavy bags off his shoulders and set them on the slick floor, carefully leaning against the long, curved desk to catch his breath.

     “Why would they erase all his background information? WHY? Did he fuck up? Did he kill a man? So far all I know is that Doctor Hermann Gottlieb was born at some point in the eighties, probably, taught college kids super young, worked at the Castletown Dome, and then BAM. COMA CITY!”

Sköll bit distractedly at one of her thumbnails, making another indistinct agreement noise.

     “Like, Tendo found his enrollment records in the academy; but...half the personal info was missing. Age, place of birth--even his medical history, which you apparently don’t have either.”

Newt hefted the bulky bag that held his Pons recorder up onto the desk with a loud thunk.

     “It’s criminal. He’s a person, and he was an important one that did important work for the war.”

He scowled, tone angry and petulant as he unzipped the rig bag and rooted around the inside for the small metal Mab box he was supposed to hand off to Sköll. Liang was still using him a delivery boy along with his other more drug-fueled obligations.

     “Somebody should care about him. Somebody should give a fuck. Everybody deserves to have at least one fuck given about them.”

Sköll gave a long and utterly bone-weary sigh, snatching the Mab box from him and opening it to check the contents. Her deep, melodious voice vibrated in Newt’s chest when she spoke.

     “I told you all I know. Liang told you all _she_ knows. His sister has come a few times and that’s more than most. Some people get lost and some lost people end up here. It is not a surprise.”

Over the course of Newt’s scattered visits to the coma ward, he had learned a few things. One of the most important was this: no matter how much it seemed like Sköll wasn’t listening, she was in fact listening. She could be juggling three chainsaws while yodeling “Yankee Doodle” and still retain everything you said to her. The gigantic nurse stood and stretched, her fingers brushing the low ceiling as her spine popped.

She glanced at Newt.

     “Are you doing it today?”

Newt worried his lower lip with his front teeth and pushed his glasses up his nose. He had told Sköll about his plan to drift with Hermann before he had even proposed the idea to Liang. He wasn’t naïve enough to consider the woman a friend, but she was an impartial witness and definitely not the type who was going to rat him out. Unlike Liang, who had reacted less than enthusiastically, Sköll had seemed amused by the prospect. She had offered to play chaperone to the process once Newt had finished his rig, probably out of pity- or maybe boredom.

     “Yeah. Lightcap gave the fixed rig back to me last night.”

Sköll pushed open the pons carrying case and pursed her lips, heavy brow folding as she considered it. Newt laughed nervously.

     “Well… _gave_ isn’t entirely the right word? More like I pestered her until she finally chucked it at me.”

Things had been weird in the labs after the double Howler incident. There had been no new Kaiju attacks since Moloch in Cleveland and the overall mood of the dome had been subdued. Topeka was holding its breath, waiting for the thunder to break and the storm to start. Lightcap had been friendlier but also more… _attentive_. Too attentive. She was in his goddamn business all the time. She would constantly ask about the Mab. How much was he using, when had he taken it; it was starting to get weird. He had no plans in the near future to get clean. No matter what he had said to Lightcap in the van. He needed her help with the rig but regretted this intervention part of the deal.

Caitlin Lightcap’s attempts at concern were clinical and at times downright creepy, and it was getting harder and harder to have any privacy in the lab in general. If Mako wasn’t tinkering on something involving power tools, then Bruce Gage was asleep on Newt’s thinking couch, or Pentecost would pay a surprise visit to check on how his latest dissection sample was progressing. Shooting up was getting to be a treacherous pastime but he needed it now more than ever.

Newt rubbed a hand absently at his port under his snow-saturated t-shirt. Sköll had picked up the bag with his modified recorder rig and was making her slow, deliberate way down the coma-ward hall to Hermann’s room. He scuttled after her, struggling to keep up with her long strides.

     “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this but I’m having…like…doubts? About this? I mean I’m almost 1000 percent sure we’re drift compatible, but, like. What if I’m wrong? What If I fry both our brains? Lightcap was telling me about all the different shit that can go wrong and it was…kinda _heinous_?”

Hermann’s room was a near-silent tomb. Newt had found some fake flowers in a secondhand shop and brought them in during his last visit. They were torn in places and the color faded from the petals of some of the roses, but it was the best he could do. Live flowers were a luxury that had long died out. Viable farmland was for food, not flowers.

Sköll checked over Hermann’s vitals before she started to unpack the rig, examining each part of it curiously.

     “Yeah it’s better than I could have done…--WAY better but-“

     “If you think you are compatible, if you feel the ghosting: You are.”

That knocked Newt into contemplative silence and he pulled his usual chair next to Hermann’s bedside setting his messenger bag aside and taking the man’s frail hand

     “I-“

     “Don’t be a chicken shit.”

Sköll looked down from her towering height and narrowed her eyes at Newt. There was something about her that Liang wasn’t spilling. A surprising number of the people on Hannibal or D’onofrio’s payroll were ex-IDDC employees; Newt had a hunch that Sköll was one of these. She knew too much about Pons and drift rigs and Nemos to be a run-of-the-mill nurse in an out-of-the-way place like this.

He had started to suspect as much when she asked really specific questions about his ghosting pain; maybe she was a burnt out pilot or a recruit that didn’t make it past the academy. Maybe somebody who had worked at a dome in a medical wing? There was a story there but no way in hell Newt was going to ask what it was. She could have easily pounded him to a fine paste.

     “I’m not! I just...”

The Pons was pushed roughly over his head before he could protest further. Sköll checked to make sure the attachments were secure on his neck and the metal prongs snug on his skin. She slid Hermann’s skullcap on with significantly more gentleness, taking a moment to wipe sleep from the corner of his eye with the pad of her thumb.

     “It’s not just about you.”

Newt wrapped his fingers tighter around Hermann’s. He could feel a pulse in the fine-boned knuckles and it was soothing. He smiled.

     “I want to see him so bad it hurts. We’ve never even really talked and I-I miss him.”

He let go of the thin pale hand and reached up to touch Hermann’s cheek, trace his fingers down the sharp edge of his jaw line. Every time he came to see him touching had come easier and felt more natural.

     “I just KNOW I need to talk to him. We need to be together and we need to… you know, I’m not even afraid of the drift itself. I’m afraid after all this I’ll get in there and he’s not gonna… _like_ me.”

Newt pulled his hands back rubbing nervously at his arms and bouncing his leg in sudden anxiety.

     “Shit. Why would he? He doesn’t know who I am. I don’t even know what’s going on in his goddamn head. The panels make it look like a mess. What if I can’t even find him or he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if-”

     “ _Stop_.”

Sköll gave him an even look, pulling a vial of Mab from the pocket of her scrubs and fishing two new syringes from a drawer at Hermann’s bedside. She prepped everything with efficiency even as she spoke in a flat toneless voice.

     “Words do nothing. Finish what you’ve started and worry after.”

Newt stopped tapping his boot against the tile floor.

     “Yeah…okay.”

The nurse was pushing the empty bed on the other side of the room towards him, beckoning for him to lie down. Newt did so, mindful of the spray of wires connecting his head to the rig between him and Hermann.

     “Um, so…Lightcap said it worked pretty much like a normal recorder? But she took out the panel reader and there’s just a- oh yeah, you’ve got it.”

Slipping off his shoes and setting his glasses safely aside, Newt settled in and tried to get comfortable. It was difficult to ignore his heart pounding wildly in his ears. The rig crackled to life and the dim lights guttered. Newt injected himself with the Mab Sköll handed him and felt he first wonderful trickle of it swim through his veins. It was really happening. He was really doing this. Sköll’s voice was distant and the small space seemed suddenly huge.

     “Ready?”

Newt nodded his voice a hiss through his clenched teeth.

     “Go for it.”

 

The world shrank to the size of a pinhole before exploding to the width of a universe. Newt found he was at its center and struggled to cling to _himself_ , the individual thoughts and desires that shaped him and made him Newton Geiszler. He tumbled past flickers of noise and light, all of them moving too fast to be perceived. He caught impressions from the blue ribbons of memories; voices whispered and pain crawled up his leg into his hip, casting a shadow that consumed everything. A grey pallor fell over the sky of his- _Hermann’s_ \- life.

    _He takes a gooey bite of a fresh baked cinnamon pastry…_

_He sees the Alps glimmer with flawless fresh snow from the window of a train…_

_His mother is dying. The doctor explains that it is too late for treatment…she will be gone before spring…_

The images of the drift were just fragments at first, slivers of a broken mirror that held another human’s reflection. The deeper Newt went, the longer he fell, the more complete the bursts of memory became- the louder Hermann screamed inside him.

_He’s standing in the rain with a blood dripping from a busted lip. He is afraid to go home…his father is going to see and know that he was too weak to defend himself. He stands in front of his house for nearly two hours. His blood swirling into a muddy puddle at his feet…_

Newt drifted weightless, formless through the drift, he was being pulled in a definite direction but the detours were endless and each one he passed offered a tantalizing glimpse of Hermann’s life.

     _The interior of the Jaeger unit glows an irradiated orange in the dark. The air tastes like burnt wire and smells of singed plastic. The metal coils will need to be cooled with a constant flow of water or the Horizon will overheat and cook its pilots, its dreamers. He can fix these problems. He can make two people invincible…_

Newt’s brain pulled away from the sensations of touch and memory, stretching like putty. In its malleable surface he could feel the imprints of Hermann stick like newsprint. The timeline marched on; school and bullies, sickness and death- for every one memory he was able to grasp at a hundred more slipped through his mental fingers.

     _Dr. Lightcap smiles at him. She puts a hand on his shoulder and gestures to the screen behind her. The Tokyo LOCCENT is cheering wildly. They have done it. The new, stronger transmitter has proven that all cities can be reached. His model was correct...he has proven that with careful planning no city should be without the protection of a jaeger..._

Newt startled eyes wide as he reached the end of the blue tunnel coming to rest on a solid surface in the dark with a heavy thud. The ride was over; please collect all items and exit to the left. The initial flood of memories in the drift pulled back and Newt was sitting in the total darkness, his mental construct panting for make-believe oxygen.

Lightcap knew Hermann. She had _worked_ with him. Why the fuck hadn’t he thought to ask her? Castletown hadn’t been her scene but somewhere in the past she had known him. No--Hermann’s emotions swelled in his chest at the realization. She had been his _friend_. Newt moved his hands to clutch at his chest.

Hermann lingered in Newt’s skin, his past and his pain buzzing through his nervous system. The initial neural connection had blown past too quickly and now the memories were retreating again. Newt grasped at them greedily but he couldn’t hold all of the man at once. He had seen every part of him and still felt like he didn’t understand him at all. He needed more time to comprehend it all.

Newt pushed to his feet, or, _pictured_ himself moving to his feet. In a lucid dream like this one it was difficult to differentiate. His hip throbbed with ghost pain and he almost leaned forward on a cane he was sure was grasped in his hand. Even if the first contact high he had gotten from Hermann had been brief, there were a few concrete things Newt gleaned from it. First and most obvious was, yeah, they were _definitely_ compatible. The second was that they had virtually nothing in common beyond a terrible lifetime of intellectual and physical loneliness. That should have been a painful discovery but Newt found it oddly comforting.

Hermann’s brain was a mathematician’s brain, a clockwork mechanism that ran with precision. Newt knew his own was more like a chaotic mess - if he was the never-ending hurricane that crashed along the surface of Jupiter, then Hermann was the peace at the storm’s center. This stranger in the coma ward was his compliment. They were together and for the first time Newt knew he wasn’t alone. He felt safe. It was the greatest high he had ever experienced.

     “Sir?”

Newt snapped his head up. He wasn’t in the dark. He wasn’t in a place that was nowhere. He was...

The grey man gave him a searching look. He polished a drinking glass behind a long bar made of shining wood. There were rows of black and white bottles lining the glass shelves behind his bald head and saggy bulldog face.

     “May I get you a drink, sir?”

Newt blinked and his voice squeaked out tiny and flustered.

     “Yes?”

He tore his gaze away from the bartender and out over the room he had apparently materialized in. The air was smoky, heavy with cigarettes, the ceiling high and dangling with colorless chandeliers. There were round white tables as far as he could see, each lit with only a single candle and surrounded with the dark figures of men and women that definitely would not feel at home in the year 2022. The women wore thick furs and smooth silk gloves up to their elbows. Their cigarettes perched at the end of long ebony holders and their hair curled into immaculate up-dos. The men looked just as rich, just as opulent. Their suits were old fashioned but sharp, and their drink glasses full of whiskey on the rocks.

The bartender spoke again, his tone oozing with barely contained annoyance.

     “When one orders a drink it is helpful to identify what type one desires, sir.”

Newt mimed holding a glass to his lips a few times wordlessly. _This wasn’t hard, dumbass, just order something! Anything with booze in it!_

     “M...martini?”

     “With a lemon twist?"

     “Lemon? Good. Uh. Yes.”   

     “Right away, sir.”

Newt looked down at himself making no move to be discreet. He was wearing a nice suit: dark grey and with lapels so pointy he was sure he was going to cut himself on them. His tie was black and his shirt was pinstriped.

Around him the beautiful people mingled and laughed. At one end of the enormous glitz-covered room Newt could just make out a stage framed by thick velvet curtains. A band was playing. Not a band like the one he had played with in college, but a band-band, the type with a nice upright piano and a trumpet player. The music meandered over the crowd and on a tiny dance floor in front of the stage, ghostly couples danced in slow, intimate circles.

Newt turned back when the bartender placed his drink down with a crisp clink. He smacked his lips. His throat was parched but he was afraid to touch the cup of fizzy alcohol. The bulldog man behind the bar was gone before he could ask another question and Newt just sat in a kind of puzzled stupor, unsure what to do next. He spied a small bowl on the bar and reached into it, pulling out a black and white book of matches. A simple logo was splashed across its cardboard cover: _“The Black Lantern Club”_.

Newt spoke the name aloud and moved the packet of matchsticks between his fingers, rubbing it distractedly with his thumb. Hermann was here. They had drifted and he knew the sensation of panel dreams well enough from past experience to know it was just like Hermann’s noir detective fantasy. The only difference between this and the usual experience with a recorded dream was that Newt was here experiencing it in first person. He wasn’t looking through the dreamer’s eyes or watching it like one would watch a movie. He was living it and making decisions in real time…, something he didn’t even know was possible.

Standing, Newt absently grabbed his drink from the bar, still unwilling to sip from it. He hadn’t drunk alcohol since his first year of college; it never sat well and he tended to avoid the stuff. Some of his confidence was returning in a shaky wave and he pointed at the bartender giving him a wink and a cocky grin.

    “Put this on my tab, man…I’m gonna scout the room.”

Sauntering off into the smoky nightclub, Newt looked from one shadowy face to another. He pulled uncomfortably at his clothes and wondered if he could change the way he was dressed or, anything really. In his own lucid dreams he sometimes had the ability to change scenes or even make things appear, but if this was Hermann’s dream...

Newt paused glancing up at the stage as a woman in a smooth, slinky black dress wandered towards a waiting microphone. A huge black feather was tucked into her hair and in each ear hung a heavy diamond earring. The band slowed the tempo of the song they were playing and then it stopped completely, leaving the big room in a brief and strange silence. The club patrons all stopped talking at once; conversation lulling to a murmur as the torch singer adjusted the microphone stand and nodded to the bandleader to start her set. In that moment of quiet Newt heard the dry and stuffy voice that filled him with panic and joy in equal measure.

Hermann was sitting in a booth, his body pressed tight against a back wall. There was a cool ease to his tone that just oozed control. Newt realized he had walked right into the middle of his detective story without context and he crept closer trying to get an idea of what was going on. There was a sweaty man who looked like, or maybe just was, Peter Lorre. He pulled something from his coat: a small black statue of a panther with dark jeweled eyes. Hermann (or _Raymond_ , Newt thought) picked it up, turning it over in his long, slender hands.

     “You took it from the drop point like I instructed? “

Peter Lorre pulled at his collar, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his neck.

     “Yes, yes. At the train station.”

     “Were you tailed? Did you make sure you weren’t followed?”

Newt pressed close to a tall potted palm tree and tried to look over the edge of the booth, heart in his throat. Hermann was so...so... _here_. As he stared at him, eyes trailing over his gaunt cheekbones and sharp jaw, and he had flashes of memories rise like smoke from the drift. They danced over his senses and for an instant Hermann’s skin and hair, his eyes and mouth all turned vivid with color. It didn’t last long but it was enough to cement what Newt already knew. Unlike the rest of this bizarre dingy noir reality, Hermann Gottleib was real.

Lorre made a bunch of mumbled assurances that he hadn’t been followed before he finally stood and bumbled his way out of the room, melting into the hazy cloud of people and smoke. Hermann turned the panther over and over in his hands, searching for something- or maybe just admiring the thing. It was made of obsidian and its carved mouth was pulled back into a jagged, angry snarl. Newt finally took a sip of his martini and winced at the sting of booze on his tongue. It was very strong. He gagged, amazed by how real it tasted and wondered if he could actually get drunk in a dream. He needed some liquid courage but not enough to get hammered.

Taking one more micro-sip Newt straightened and brushed himself off. This felt painfully like a blind date. Smoothing down his static hair as best he could, Newt walked around the potted plant and towards the edge of the booth his heart pounding through his dress shirt. He cleared his throat and spoke in a jittery excited voice.

     “H-Herm-Detective?”

Hermann reacted at once, shoving the panther statue into his coat. He reached for what Newt could only assume was a gun. He didn’t look at Newt, speaking to the tabletop as he hissed a question through his teeth.

     “Did Sral send you?”

Newt held up his hands to show he was unarmed, but Hermann’s hand remained inside his jacket, his lanky body tense. He pushed his free hand back to the tabletop to grab at his drink, what Newt presumed could only be whiskey sloshing in the glass. On stage the woman was starting into a new song; her voice carried over the crowd as she pleaded with some lost flame to please come back home.

     “N-no. Nah. I. I-I need a detective and I h-heard you were the best.”

Hermann relaxed a little, the muscles in his arm loosening. He didn’t let his fingers stray from the concealed gun just yet but he wasn’t about to whip it out and start shooting, and that was a plus.

_If he did shoot me here would I actually die? Maybe my brain would think I was dead so I would….just like when pilots get hurt. Their bodies are fine; it’s just the brain that gets mangled._

     “How did you find me?”

Newt let out a nervous laugh and shrugged.

     “I just s-saw you here and I thought I would come on over. I’ve been trying to meet you awhile actually, but you know; you’re a hard man to track down.”

Hermann took a sip from his glass and nodded, finally putting both hands on the table, fingers tapping the polished wood surface.

     “Sit, then. We’ll discuss your case.”

Newt was giddy, his body on fire with nerves. He nearly spilled the dregs of his martini as he sat in the dim booth across from Hermann – no, Detective Raymond Bishop, if they were going to keep up the pretense of the story. The detective rummaged around in the pocket of his suit and pulled out a tidy little notebook and pencil.

     “So what is your problem, Mister...”

For the first time since Newt had approached, Hermann finally looked up into his face. Their gazes locked and his eyes widened in surprise and what Newt was certain was something like recognition. Newt watched him, chest tight, voice hopeful.

     “I-I’m looking for someone.”

Hermann stared mouth slightly agape, his pale face going an even lighter shade of chalk white. The torch singer’s ethereal voice floated between them in the pause, her words deep and urging.

_“Skylark, Have you anything to say to me? Won’t you tell me where my love can be?”_

Newt swallowed unsure what to do. He smiled crookedly and leaned closer so the candlelight touched his face.

     “His name is Hermann Gottlieb.”

Hermann opened and closed his mouth several times and finally cleared his throat. The ambient noises of the club became more and more distant. The clanging of glasses and low trickle of conversation muted under a fine mist.

     “...I know you.”

Hermann’s voice was scared and small, all pretense of the swaggering, self-sure detective leaving him. Swathes of white fog rose cold from the carpet surrounding their booth. All the people at the bar, the waiters, and finally the singer on stage went completely still. Stiff as statues; they looked like they had been paused mid-action. The dream ground to a halt and Hermann started to shake, his voice frail and horrified.

     “How do I know you? I know you, but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Newt wanted so badly to reach out and touch him. Show he was a solid real thing - the only real thing in this comforting illusion Hermann had concocted for himself.

     “Yeah, I’m Newton Geiszler…-Newt.”

Hermann stood with enough force to knock the heavy table sideways. The candle at its center tumbled to the ground, the flame snuffed out by the sudden gust of air. In the moment the tiny flame flickered out of existence the rest of the dream went with it; the club and all the people disappeared, leaving behind nothing but Newt, Hermann, and an endless black void.

     “I dreamed about you.”

Hermann took a step back, wild-eyed, the black panther statue falling from his coat and splashing to the ground like a drop of ink, evaporating into the nothing and leaving behind no trace it had even existed.

     “I saw – are you one of their tricks? They can’t reach me here! Are you one of theirs!?”

Hermann dug his fingers into his scalp knocking his fedora off. It scattered into a million tiny pieces before disappearing altogether.

     “Get out of my head!”

Pain flared behind Newts eyes and he winced, reaching up to touch his own forehead.

     “No! No man, it’s not like that; I’m here to help you! I swear to god I just wanted to talk to you! Y-“

The drift fluctuated wildly, pulling and pushing between the two of them, struggling for balance as Hermann drew away and Newt strained to hold their link.

     “STOP! How could you find me here? They can’t come here!”

Hermann was on the verge of real tears, his emotional distress almost too much inside Newt’s head and heart.

     “Hermann, just-calm down, dude. Let me explain, okay?”

The darkness was heaving more and more violently, giant tears appearing in its smooth surface. The ever-present pain in Hermann’s leg that had been conspicuously absent in the jazz club began to sting the muscles in Newt’s hip and knee. Hermann looked at him, his grey face wavering, the pale eyes damp and pained.

     “You bastards couldn’t let me enjoy the dream a moment more? Why torture me with this man, this _Geiszler_. Is he a lure? An _enticement?_ It is a good attempt but I will NEVER-“

The world burst into pieces.

Newt sat up gasping and struggling for breath. He stared down at his hands and found them to be the appropriate shade of peach; the grey slate noir color vanished with Hermann’s dream. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to swing his leg over the side of the hospital bed, expecting to hear Sköll come running to check on him. He had probably been screaming in his sleep.

     “It was bad as I thought...he did _not_ take that well. I barely got to talk to-”

Newt stopped mid-motion, startled. There was no tile under his bare feet, only a damp earthen floor so wet it was almost mud. He snapped his head up, glancing around and found that what he first thought was the coma ward was actually a cave made of dark black rock. The ceiling was low and the only light came from a narrow opening some feet away.

After a moment, Newt’s eyes adjusted to the murky light and he could see the cave held tell-tale traces of human habitation; a fire pit in the dirt, a few bowls made of rough clay that collected dripping water from the ceiling, even a neatly organized stone shelf full of dried leathery things that might have been mushrooms.

     “Hermann?”

There was no answer and he gave a bemused laugh, standing unsteadily.

     “Hermann...I’m still dreaming I...”

There was no answer. Wherever he was, he was alone there. Unsure what else to do, Newt started for the only visible exit, curious about the pink-tinted light seeping through cracks from the world outside. Much like Bishop’s office and the Club, this didn’t feel dreamlike. He could taste a foul almost metallic sting in the air, and hear distant noises like crashing surf from somewhere close. His feet were cold and he had to be careful not to cut his toes on the razor sharp rocks littering the spongy ground.

Bizarre black and red vegetation partially covered the thin mouth of the cave and Newt puzzled over it. The plant leaves were shaped oddly, the thick stems somewhat resembled bamboo but only because he lacked anything better for comparisons sake. The stem was too thick, the wrong texture and color.

 _Definitely a dream_ , Newt thought. He must have just kept sleeping after he lost Hermann. He pushed the black “bamboo” barrier experimentally. It fell without much resistance, hitting the ground with a soft sound. Nothing separated him from the outside and Newt gazed out into the world beyond the cave.

He had seen if before.

The black ocean, the dying sun, the hovering chunks of broken planet, the hot heavy sky…he had seen it all before in Hermann Gottlieb’s dreams. Newt froze, heart struggling in his chest as his lungs fought the very air he was breathing. He didn’t feel real panic, only a kind of blank shock.

It was daytime; there were no stars visible in the torn alien sky yet. The air was filled with a reddish fallout haze, and from where he stood Newt could see a bay full of the thick, sludge-like water. It lapped at the crystalline black sand in fat gelatinous waves, leaving behind lines of slime in its wake and a foul, almost chemical, smell. There were no dead fish this time around but high above him Newt saw something that might have been a reptilian seagull circle; it made a noise that he could only think of as a rake on glass.

Then the roar rose up, an earth-shaking skyscraper noise. It was another specter of that first dream that Newt could never forget, not even if he tried. In the distance he could see not just one, but multiple monsters. Each one of their nightmarish silhouettes the size of a city, the length of a freight train. One of the creatures opened a mouth full of irregular teeth and the glow of its throat sent out a blue beacon that would have put a lighthouse to shame. Hypnotized by the sight, a strange thought came unbidden into Newt’s mind.

_It’s looking for something...it’s looking for me._

Even this realization couldn’t get Newt to move, the methane air squeezing his lungs and wrapping tight around his brain. He wanted to run, as the thoughts that weren’t his own grew more urgent.

_I can’t let it find me... have to hide._

The distant Kaiju turned and Newt could almost feel them looking his direction. Even at this distance, even when he was so far from them he couldn’t make out anything but their obscured shapes. He gasped and let out a petrified sob eyes wide. Soon they would start walking this way and he would just be waiting here like an idiot, waiting for them to-

Something grabbed him around the stomach and yanked him back into the cave, breaking the deer-in-headlights spell that the world outside had cast over his senses. Newt shook and leaned backwards trying to grab onto whatever was holding him, babbling at it nonsensically.

     “Mmn! The-the k – the ka-!”

The arms held him a moment more before pulling away and a calming voice spoke in his ear.

     “Its alright. It’s alright. Let me put the cover back. You’re obviously not one of theirs...”

Hermann moved past him quickly, reaching out to grab the scrubby pieces of not-bamboo. He hid the entrance as best he could while still letting some of the acid pink light ooze inside to keep the place from being completely pitch dark.

Newt stared almost as shocked by this as he had been by the landscape outside. There he was. Hermann Gottlieb. All a hundred and thirty-something pounds of him. He looked--he looked _terrible_. His clothing-which had probably once consisted of a jacket, undershirt, and cardigan sweater-was down to filthy tatters. His pant legs had been ripped so many times that at some point he had given up and clipped off all the material below the knee.

Hermann gave the makeshift door cover one last glance before turning to Newt, his gaunt face framed by the noxious light at his back.

     “It is dangerous to go out during the day. Contrary to common sense, it’s far safer during the night; the patrols are spaced out and not as long in duration. One for every six...I usually move hiding places at least once during the day as well, just to be on the safe side. A day lasts twenty hours here...night only eleven...but one…gets used to it.”

Hermann babbled in a way that reminded Newt eerily of himself, and he wondered if that was a side effect of the drift or just the ramblings of a man who hadn’t spoken to another human being in a very long time.

     “I-”

Newt’s voice broke, unsure where to start, what to ask first. Hermann watched him and looked uneasily over his shoulder.

     “Come...the stone effectively jams their frequencies, so detection is harder the deeper you go. It was a happy accident I found that, of course, but then, this whole business is rather hit and miss...at least for the first few months.”

     “ _Months?_ ”

Newt’s voice squeaked as he followed Hermann back farther into the dark. The man knew almost instinctually where to place his feet, like he had walked this place hundreds of times before. He walked with a noticeable limp. Newt felt a rise of pain in his hip as he listened to Gottlieb’s uneven footsteps. The slender hands pushed him down onto a pile of dry crinkling foliage that clearly served as some kind of furniture.

     “Yes...you’re new. Surprisingly lucid for just getting here but-“

     “Hermann? This dream – I don’t understand.”

The mathematician shifted in the dark; turning his back to Newt, Hermann spoke in a low whisper. Newt realized with some puzzlement that he was muttering to himself, having a one sided conversation as he picked up something from a pile on the cave floor.

     “Perhaps he is one of theirs…I shouldn’t have pulled him in here but then again-then again he could have called the patrol by now if he truly was. But no his reaction..He must be- but then how do I know..”

Newt clenched and unclenched his hands, wondering if it was rude to interrupt someone talking to themselves.

     “Hermann. I’m not sure what’s going on but-“

     “Dr. Gottlieb.”

     “What?”

Hermann turned back to him and there was a loud snapping sound as he broke apart the object he had picked up from the floor. Blue light erupted in the enclosed space and Newt blinked against it in surprise. The thing Hermann was holding was apparently some kind of bio-luminescent fungus or plant, and its insides glowed with intense spots of light once broken open.

     “You can call me by my title. A first name basis is being too familiar for my liking.”

Newt bit his lower lip, hurt by this. If he concentrated on the dim sensations still lingering at the back of his brain he could relive a partial memory of Hermann eating a giant plate of Belgian waffles. That was surely enough of a reason to be on a goddamn first name basis.

     “And your name?”

Newt snorted. Did Hermann really not know? He had told him once in the Bishop dream and the two of them were drifting at that very moment. Was he being a difficult prick on purpose? It was getting really old, _really_ fast.

     “Newton Geiszler. But just call me Newt.”

“Newt, as in the amphibian? I will call you no such thing. I take it you were named after Sir Isaac Newton? That’s a perfectly respectable name.”

     “Fine! I- this whole thing is just a goddamn dream anyway I could call you Kathy Ireland and it wouldn’t matter either way. ”

Hermann huffed and placed the glowing thing in his hands inside a smoothed bit of wall that served as a sconce.

     “This is not a dream. It’s best to realize that right away. Denial is normal. I recall when I went through it myself. It won’t last long...”

     “But it is a dream. Herm - Doctor Gottlieb, you’re _asleep! I’m asleep!_ ”

Hermann sat on a stone outcropping across from Newt, examining him with dark cautious eyes. His thin face looked almost skeletal in the ethereal blue light; it felt like the two of them were trapped miles underwater. Newt flapped his hands impatiently.

     “Sleep! DREAMS! You _get_ it dude?”

     “Doctor Geiszler, there is no reason to spit or scream, I am mere _inches_ front of you! You are acting quite childish!”

     “Oh! _I’m_ acting childish?”

     “Yes! You go GALLAVANTING out into a strange place, pulling away things clearly meant for protection and concealment, just rushing out into the unknown-“

     “Like I knew what was going on? Being in the dreams of a cave-dwelling crazy man didn’t give me jack-shit preparation for the Kaiju cluttering up the landscape!”

Something in Newt’s words bothered Hermann so much he hugged himself, rubbing at his arms like he had been struck by a chill. He chattered under his breath, the words too quiet for Newt to hear. There were colorful whispers of emotion gliding through the drift. Newt jiggled his leg up and down to stave off anxiety and blurted out.

     “You’re in a coma, Hermann! I’m _drifting_ with you!”

Hermann stared at him mutely.

     “Do-do you not feel it? Do you not feel connected at all?“

Newt felt his face flush bright red and was glad for the murky lighting to disguise it. Hermann shook his head, ignoring Newt’s questions.

     “Why? Why would you do such a foolish-“

     “I-I wanted to talk to you.”

He wondered with sudden fear if Hermann knew how much of an understatement that was. Maybe he wasn’t feeling the drift. Maybe it was only a one sided connection after all. If he could see into the drift, which memories was he seeing? Would he know about the drugs? Newt still had a few memories but mostly it had blown by too fast to recall.

     “I found some of your dreams in panels and I-“

Hermann reached out and gripped Newt’s wrists, squeezing them until it actually started to hurt. His breathing turned ragged and his eyes looked wild in the blue light. The light was the same color as the warning lights in the Shatterdome, Newt thought stupidly. The Kaiju lights.

     “You came here voluntarily? _You drifted with me?_ YOU BLOODY IDIOT!”

Newt choked, too shocked to pull his hands away.

     “I-“

     “That explains… you have to go! You don’t even realize what you’ve done! If they didn’t pull you here- good god, what if they can _track_ you?”

Hermann’s breathing grew louder, the rattling noise bouncing off the cave walls. Newt felt his heart start to race empathetically. This was not the reaction he had wanted. He had expected surprise and yeah a bit of anger maybe, but not this. Hermann had gone insane trapped in his own dreams and it was awful.

     “H-Doctor. Calm down; I just want to help you, maybe get you out of this dream-loop thing you’re in.”

Hermann shook him hissing through his teeth.

     “Don’t ever come back here. This isn’t a dream. This isn’t some film or game you can turn off. This is a prison and you’ve brought yourself here _voluntarily_.

     “I know you think that but-“

     “NEWTON!”

Newt startled at his own name. The emotions were flying between them so fast he couldn’t keep track of which belonged to who. Hermann looked away embarrassed, clearing his throat.

     “Doctor Geiszler. You must leave.”

     “You do feel it, don’t you? The drift?”

Newt grabbed awkwardly at Hermann’s arms as the man’s grip on him loosened.

     “We’re compatible, man. I can figure out a way to wake you up.”

Tears were filling Hermann’s eyes and he gave a wrenching sob. He hadn’t been surprised at all by the revelation he was in a coma. On the contrary he seemed perfectly aware. Maybe, maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe the panels had recorded something else, something different. But if it wasn’t a dream what the _hell_ was it.

     “You can’t wake me up from this.”

The ground rumbled around them, the walls of the cave shaking in time to the sound of gargantuan footsteps. Hermann reached out almost instinctively and grabbed Newt around the shoulders. He put a hand on top of Newt’s head holding him close and shielding him as bits of the ceiling fell about them. The blue light jittered and shook, sending shadows cascading about in the confusion.

The Kaiju, if that was what it was, lumbered off into the distance and they both sat poised in the gloom panting for breath. Hermann pulled away and swallowed hard.

     “If you are wise, Newton Geiszler, you won't try and see me again...please- _PLEASE_ don’t be stubborn. Just know that- that I wish I had met you… _before._ "

Newt inhaled a breath to start a fresh argument, but something slapped him hard across the face, sending him reeling. At once his eyes opened and he was looking up into Sköll’s partially obscured features. She was holding a needle in one hand and his arm in the other.

     “Are you with me?”

He gagged and leaned over the side of the bed to vomit the martini his brain was convinced he had drunk. Nothing came up but air and dry heaves.

     “…O-only half.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of the chapter is taken from the song sung in the club. Specifically Maxine Sullivan's beautiful rendition of Skylark https://www.youtube.com/watch?list=RDbGLJ3AnwQ7w&feature=player_detailpage&v=bGLJ3AnwQ7w
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> Thanks as always to space champion editor Bluestar and Super Beta Chal


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